Tea and Crumpets
by Undertaker's Madness
Summary: One day while wandering around London pondering the events of his life, Grell Sutcliff has an unfortunate run-in with a bucket of black paint—courtesy of the Undertaker. It soon turns into an encounter neither of them are likely to forget. Co-written by DareDreemer. Yaoi. Rated M for mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. We make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only_**_._

**_Author's note(s):_**

_This was to be a one shot, but quickly took on a life of its own. Written RP-style. This is an ongoing RP and shall be updated as new chapters become available._

_DareDreemer: Grell Sutcliff & Lloyd Garrison (OC) & Sebastian Michaelis_  
_Undertaker's Madness: Undertaker & Ronald Knox_  
_Trade offs: Doctor Wilhelm Wundt & William T. Spears_

_Undertaker's Madness is main editor_  
_DareDreemer proof reads all chapters before posting._

**_Note from DareDreemer:_**  
_Wilhelm Wundt, this original character was inspired by the real Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt (16 August 1832 – 31 August 1920) . A German physician, psychologist, physiologist, philosopher, and professor, known today as one of the founding figures of modern psychology._

_When searching for the name of our villain I did a general search for names of Psychologists. The first name to pop up was, Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt. Our villain is inspired, only in name, alongside occupation and land of birth. All other aspects of his life were made up for our story. To read and learn more about the real Doctor Wundt, this incredible and inspiring figure of psychological medicine, please visit: ( wiki/Wilhelm_Wundt) or general search his name in any online search engine._

**Tea and Crumpets**

**Chapter one**

He sat precariously perched on the very edge of his shop's roof, whistling and singing a sea shanty as he retouched the paint on his sign. People passing by on the street stopped to stare up at the eccentric mortician, wondering how in the world the man could so easily squat there, unconcerned with the drop beneath him. His long silver hair blew in the wind, and he smiled happily as he worked.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest," he crooned, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum..."

He paused when he saw a small group of people looking up at him, and he tipped his hat to them. "Afternoon," he greeted with a toothy grin.

They hastily departed.

Shrugging, Undertaker resumed his task, whistling the simple tune he'd gotten attached to since reading "Treasure Island".

He got so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice a certain flamboyant redhead coming his way from the opposite side of the street.

~xox~

Grell walked slowly down the London street, his mind a million miles away as he day-dreamed about the demon he had just crossed paths with, once again. Oh, he was a handsome devil all right, tall, slender. Grell's knees turned to jelly every time he was near the blasted beast. He knew the demon didn't share the attraction, but the redhead loved to play chase and so he played the game every time he laid eyes upon him. He loved watching him get frustrated every time he flirted with him.

What he wouldn't give to win his adoration, but still, a demon was a demon and Grell was a reaper. Will, his boss, would have his head if he ever got involved with such a creature...but then again, Will never had to know. He smiled at the thought as he crossed the quiet street. He never imagined that he was about to be covered in blackness.

A startled cry and a clanking noise had Grell looking up, just as a splash of black paint rained down upon him, covering him from head to toe.

Undertaker didn't quite make his grab for the bucket in time and he looked down as it tumbled off the roof. Seeing a hapless pedestrian standing there, looking like he'd been tarred and awaited feathering, he grimaced.

"Whoopsie. Are you all right, down there?"

Grell looked up, his gaze falling onto the haphazard old mortician. "You!" he growled, his eyes narrowing, "do I _look _fine to you? You...you crazy old loon! I am covered in paint! _Black_ paint, no less!"

He looked down. His clothes were ruined. His hair felt heavy and sticky. Slowly, he lifted his hand to the back of his head, pulling his hair over his shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"My _hair_!" he cried out.

The shopkeeper jumped down lightly. He couldn't for the death of him recognize the soggy black mess that stood before him, but he recognized the girlish, dramatic voice.

"Oh dear," murmured Undertaker, and he beamed a smile at him. "Mr. Sutcliff! I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't tell my paint to land on you."

Unmindful of the goopy sludge dripping from the poor Dispatch agent, he took Grell's hand and started to drag him toward the door to his shop. "Come along, love," he offered, "we'll get you cleaned up in a jiffy."

"That is _Miss _Sutcliff to you, and unhand me!" snapped the redhead. "Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?" He struggled to pull away from the mortician's grasp. "The last thing I need is your help. You'd probably shave me bald. I am sure I can manage just fine on my own."

Undertaker clucked his tongue, not letting the smaller reaper pull free from his grasp. "My dear lady," he corrected himself, scooping the fuming redhead up in his arms without warning, "have you noticed the length of my hair? I'd have gone bald myself long ago, if I didn't know how to take care of long tresses."

He kicked open the door to his shop casually and carried his protesting passenger through the entry. "I'm also a mortician, need I remind you. I have methods to clean out all manner of substances, without harming a hair on your pretty crimson head."

He kicked the door shut again behind him, and it locked immediately. He grinned at the paint-splattered reaper in his arms. "You've just got to give a fellow a chance."

He then began to carry Grell toward the curtain in the back of the shop—which divided his living quarters from the shop itself.

"You...bounder! Put me down this instant! How dare you treat a lady as such!" Grell complained as he was man handled and carried inside the shop.

Grell held onto the man as he waltzed to the curtain. He hadn't really thought of the mortician being able to fix the situation. Undertaker was an eccentric old fool, who had messed with the redhead more times than he could count. Grell never knew if the man was serious or just playing games with him. He had learned how, not to trust him, but perhaps he might actually be trying to help rectify the accident.

"And just how do you expect to fix what has been done?" he asked, his curiosity nagging at him.

"Well, first we'll need to get you out of those clothes," explained the mortician, pushing aside the curtain. "I'll put them in the wash bucket while you make use of my shower. I've got a mixture that's sure to get that goop out of your hair, and I'll even come help you, if you wish. You can borrow one of my robes while you're waiting on your clothes to dry."

Undertaker gently set him back down on his feet, cordially gesturing down the hallway, which was lit by flickering candle sconces. "First door on your right, my dear. I'll bring you a robe whilst you peel that mess off and get the water running."

He took his top hat off and he hung it on a rack near the curtain.

Grell whirled around and faced the mortician. "You may certainly _not_ help me. What kind of lady do you take me for? I-I may be a flirt and I-I may have said things in the past, but I am no strumpet," he ranted, poking the mortician in the chest. "You can hand me that robe right now and collect my clothes once I am finished cleaning myself up."

Undertaker shrugged, his grin hardly fading. "Suit yourself, dear. I'll be surprised if you can get all of that black out of your glorious tresses on your own, though."

He caught up the hand that Grell was poking him with, and he found a clean spot to kiss. "If you decide you need old Undertaker's help though, just call."

He winked at the redhead through the part in his bangs, and left him to go and collect the promised robes.

~xox~

Grell puffed up like an old hen, "Insufferable old coot!" He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall towards the bathroom.

Finding a lamp on the sink, Grell lit it, freezing the minute his eyes saw his reflection in the mirror. His mouth gaping in shock as he saw the fright that was himself, staring back at him. He reached up and touched his cheek.

"I look like a damned shadow." he whined, closing his eyes, leaning on the counter for support as tears threatened to over take him. "Why do these things always happen to me?"

~xox~

Undertaker resumed humming his sea shanty as he selected a robe for his guest. Looking at it, he estimated it would drag at least a foot behind Sutcliff...unless the vain reaper chose to wear his high heeled boots to boost his height. He grinned at the thought. Grell was certainly an entertaining creature, even when he threw a tantrum.

When he wasn't covered in paint he was quite lovely, too. Hmm. He hadn't enjoyed another's company simply for the sake of doing so for some time. They all wanted something from him, and they always left once they got it.

And they always thought of him as a creepy old fart.

That thought had a sobering effect on Undertaker. At least Grell was honest about it, but it would be nice to strip away some of the layers and show someone what was underneath. He was so used to playing the role of...

A cry of frustration from the bathroom drew his attention, distracting his wayward thoughts.

~xox~

Grell slid his red coat from his shoulders, the only item he had left from his beloved Mistress, the former Baroness Durless. He held it out in from of himself examining it.

"My beautiful coat...It is ruined, ruined beyond repair." he cried, no longer able to fight the tears. He hugged he coat to his chest as he sat down on the commode weeping.

Undertaker knocked on the door, faintly concerned for his guest. "Are you all right in there, darlin'?"

Grell's head popped up at the sound of the knock, "Go away!" he replied, sniffling.

The mortician grinned at the childish response, but hearing the tears in his voice, he sobered. "Not until you tell me what has you in such a state. Maybe ol' Undertaker can help, eh?"

"Haven't you helped enough? It's ruined...it can't be replaced. It was all I had left of her," his voice quaked as he hollered back through the door.

"All you had left of who?" Puzzled Undertaker. He tried the knob and he sighed when he found it locked. "How do you know I can't help, if you won't let me try?"

Jumping up, Grell rushed to the door, threw it open, and thrust the blackened coat at the mortician. "This...this is ruined...Anne's coat. It is all I had left of her and-and now...nothing will remove the paint from it." he turned, choking on a sob.

"That woman you used to work for?" Queried the mortician, "The one that you reaped?"

Why on earth would he hold so much sentiment for a coat he took from a woman he himself killed on a whim? And they called Undertaker a kook...

Looking at how wretchedly unhappy he was, the old reaper's heart went out to him. It didn't matter what Grell's reasons were. Undertaker had no idea what might have happened between Sutcliff and Madam Red before she died. He had only Ciel's account of the event, after all, and it wasn't his place to judge.

"There, there...don't cry. The paint hasn't dried yet, so we may be able to salvage it. Hand me the coat, and I'll set it to soaking in my best solution for getting out stains. As I said; I have to remove all manner of stains quite often."

He held his arms out for the coat. "It's all right, love," he coaxed. "I've no reason to deliberately damage it further. Since the mess is partly my fault, at least let me try."

Slowly the redhead turned back to face the mortician. His face set in a pout, reluctantly he handed the coat over. He doubted very seriously any salvaging could be done, but perhaps the man was right, maybe he could do something. What would it hurt to try? The damage was done. The worst had already be fallen the precious article of clothing.

Grell watched as the man took his beloved coat away and began unbuttoning his waist coat. Some of the buttons did not want to give way as the paint began to dry and set.

"Blasted...!" he exhaled, the last button slipping from his fingers. He decided it might be best if he removed his gloves; his bare fingers might not slip so easily.

"Oh no!...no...no...no...!" he grumbled.

The paint had begun to set under the rim of the gloves, sealing against his skin. More swear words fell from his lips as he stomped down the hall in search of the Undertaker.

~xox~

He heard the redhead's loud approach, and the mortician turned away from the basin that he now had the coat soaking in to look at him. Even Grell's boots sounded angry.

"What's the trouble now, my dear?"

Grell held his hands out, "I can not get my gloves off. I need my fingers to undress and well... the gloves, they seem to have been sealed to my wrists. I-I...I need your help!"

His cheeks grew hot as they turned bright red under the black paint. How humiliating it was to have to ask the silver-haired mortician for help. Grell's pride was forced to be put aside. He was purely at the man's mercy. He stood waiting for the wise crack he was sure would soon follow. They always came. The man could never pass up the opportunity to humiliate him further and here he stood like a chicken about to have its neck wrung.

Indeed, Undertaker's first impulse was to tease the fuming Dispatch agent...but the tears drying on Grell's cheeks and clinging to his long lashes made him feel merciful. Unbeknownst to anyone else, tears were one of Undertaker's carefully hidden weaknesses. He hated sadness...which was why laughter was so important to him.

His voice took on an uncommonly gentle, kindly tone-the one he once reserved for children when he came to collect their records. "I can never turn down a damsel in distress. Here now, don't panic. This is easily fixed."

He put an arm around Grell and guided him to the basin, and then he collected the sponge and dipped it into the solution. After wringing it out a bit, he started to clean the mess up, so that the gloves could be removed.

"There, you see? We'll have these off and soaking with your coat in a jiffy."

Grell watched the man scrub his wrists. His hands moved swiftly, but gently. He had never heard the Undertaker speak so softly. He was kind and tender. No joke fell from his lips. It was as if he genuinely cared not to hurt him. The redhead's eyes wandered to his pale, scared face. His glasses were smudged by the paint, but he could still make out the man's cheerful smile as he held his hand in his own.

"Thank you..." Grell whispered.

Undertaker looked at him through the fringe of his bangs. Had Sutcliff just thanked him? Huh, that was new. He was ordinarily such a high-strung little chap...downright bratty, at times.

Not knowing what else to do, he smiled at him and continued to gently scrub, peeling off one glove with care and dropping it into the liquid with the coat.

"My pleasure. It was my paint that got you into this mess, after all. Least I can do is help clean it up."

Quietly Grell sat, while the mortician continued to work on his other hand. He didn't know what else to say, so he just nodded when the mortician spoke. He never suspected the man could be so kind. It was rather refreshing to the redhead. Under all those jokes was a gentle soul. What other secrets did he hide? Grell puzzled over him, studying him, watching him. The man was so graceful with his movements, he was almost hypnotic.

"How long do you suppose it will take for them to wash? My clothes that is?" the redhead asked, looking over at the basin, where his coat and glove were hidden below the surface.

"I'd say we should let them soak overnight," estimated the mortician. I'll give them a good scrub and rinse them off in the morning, along with the rest of your clothes. You can take my bed for the night. I hardly ever sleep in it, anyway."

He finished with the left hand and he grinned with satisfaction as he pulled that glove off and tossed it in the basin. He grabbed the hand towel from the nearby rack and patted Grell's hands dry.

"There you go, my dear. You have free hands again." On impulse, he brought them to his smiling lips and he planted a kiss on the top of each one. "Now go and get that lovely red hair washed out before it cakes in. I set the robe on the floor beside the door when I came to check on you."

Grell could not help but blush once more as the man kissed his hands. But the prospect of staying the rest of the evening and night was not overly appealing to him.

"Must it really take that long? A-and where is the stuff that will get the paint out of my hair? I highly doubt soap alone with do the trick..." he inquired, gradually slipping his hands from the mortician's.

"Do you want your cherished coat to come clean?" Countered Undertaker. "I'm sure a pretty young thing like yourself has places he'd rather be, but unless you want to go home in a robe two sizes too big for you and come back in the morning, I'm afraid you'll have to make the most of it."

He grinned and spoke in a gently teasing tone. "Besides, what might people think if they see Grell Sutcliff going around in ol' Undertaker's drab robes? They might talk, you know."

Feeling deflated, Grell slouched on the stool; very unbecoming of a lady. He nodded in response to the mortician's question, then asked, "What do I use on my hair then?" His eyes drifted down to his now, black speckled boots. Another sob tore through his body.

"Now, now," soothed Undertaker, "those aren't so bad. I can fix them up, too."

He gave the bereaved redhead a pat on the shoulder, before squatting down to help him out of his boots. "Do hurry, Mr. Sutcliff. You need to get in the shower and start lathering up. Lift your foot...that's it."

He really couldn't say why he was coddling the volatile man, except that he wanted him to stop weeping and he really was partly to blame for his condition. He took the shoes away, and he resisted the temptation to tickle the unexpectedly cute little feet.

"There we are," said Undertaker. He stood back up and carried the shoes over to the counter to be cleaned up later. He opened up the overhead cabinet and looked through his bottles and jars, until he found the special shampoo he used to clean the worst goop out of his hair when he had little accidents on the job.

"Here," offered the ancient, handing the jar of thick white substance over to him. "I'd say your hair is of a length to mine, so two scoops ought to do it. Lather up with it, leave it on for two minutes, then rinse. Do it again if you have to and then wash your hair as normal with the shampoo and conditioner I've got on the shelf in there."

Taken by playful impulse, Undertaker winked at him. "And if you need any help, just give a shout and I'll come running."

"Miss Sutcliff..." he corrected once again, reaching out to take the jar from the retired reaper. "I'll leave the clothes outside the door."

Grell shuffled back down the hall to the bathroom, bending over the tub, he opted to take a bath rather than a shower. He wanted to soak himself. He pushed the stopper into the drain and turned the water on. Once the water reached the right temperature, he stood up and began to undo his waist coat once more. The buttons stiffly releasing as his fingers moved as fast as they could. His shirt quickly followed the waist coat to the floor. He turned the water off, before removing his trousers and underpants. Scooping the bundle of clothing in his arms, he walked to the door and piled them in the hall, remembering to pick the robe up, carrying it back into the room with him.

As he started to climb into the tub, he realized his stockings still adorned his feet. "Oh...I forgot about you." he whispered, slipping them from his feet. Quickly he threw them outside the door and crawled into the tub.

The water sloshed around his naked body as he sunk further into the soothing warm water. He did as the Undertaker had instructed, while he waited for the goop to work its magic, Grell pulled his knees up in front of him, wrapping his arms around them, resting his cheek atop of them. The tears came easily. He didn't want to cry again. It was childish and petty to cry so much over spilled paint. But try as he might, he could not keep the tears from falling, mixing with the bath water.

~xox~

As he worked furiously to brush and polish off Grell's boots, Undertaker again wondered why this seemed so important to him. He thought of all the exchanges he'd had with his guest in the past, and he started to grin.

He liked the androgynous little spitfire, that was why. Perhaps some of his efforts were also inspired by the uncommon need to show someone that he was more than the creepy old eccentric, too. His smile grew wider as the paint began to come off. Yes, he could repair the damage to the shoes, as well. Perhaps he'd kiss Grell's cute little toes with their red painted nails before helping him slip the boots back on, tomorrow.

He heard the bathroom door open and close twice, and he left off the shoes for the moment to go and collect the clothes Grell had dumped in the hallway. He paused at the bathroom door after gathering up the garments, his sharp ears picking up on the sound of soft, muffled crying from the other side.

With a little frown, Undertaker shifted his burden in his arms and rapped softly on the door with his knuckles. "Are you doing okay in there, my dear?"

"I-I am fine... ju-just waiting like y-you said to." Grell hollered back, his voice shaky.

~xox~

It was a lie, he was not fine. He was sitting naked in the bath tub of the Undertaker's home. He never imagined in is wildest dreams he would ever be in a situation such as this. The day had started out bad to begin with. Will suspended him again over some silly slight. What was the harm in playing with Sebastian Michaelis, once in a while? Nothing was ever going to happen between them—though Grell was still hoping that might change—but Will said he was disgracing himself and his department by continuing to chase after him, and he put him on three days' suspension to "teach him a lesson". With everything else that had gone bad, why would the paint alone upset him so terribly? The eccentric old coot was at least trying to help him. He should be more grateful, yet here he sat unable to stop from crying. He felt like a child needing to be held, held by loving arms, a warm embrace.

~xox~

Undertaker didn't believe Grell's words for a second, but even he had sense enough not to barge in on a guest in the middle of taking a bath. He carried the dirty laundry back to the washroom and he dropped it all in with the rest that was soaking. Now that the clothes were all taken care of, he went to the single bedroom in the back and he shed his layers of clothing, changing into a fresh robe for the night without bothering to put on pants or boots. He hung up his hat and pinned his bangs back from his face so that he could see what he was doing better with Grell's shoes.

Barefoot now and dressed only in one layer, The mortician took his soiled robes back into the washroom to soak it with Grell's clothes. He then went back to hovering over the boots, doing his best to clean them up.

~xox~

Grell ducked below the surface of the water, submerging his entire body. He stared up at the ceiling through the ripples of the water, letting the goop from the jar rinse from his hair. After sometime, the water began to cool, he pushed himself up, pulling the plug from the drain. Carefully he stood and started the shower, grabbing the shampoo to start the process anew. The water cascading over his naked flesh. Shampoo mixed with water coursed through every crevice, over every muscle. He leaned heavily against the wall as the water rinsed the suds away.

With a washcloth he scrubbed his face till it was raw and every fleck of paint was removed. Feeling finally clean, he turned the water off, wrung his hair, wrapping a towel around his crimson locks. He wrapped a second towel around his body as he emerged from the shower, the scent of jasmine and roses surrounding him. Grell had been pleasantly surprised to discover the soap was his favorite fragrance. The scent had relaxed him, made him feel more at home and himself. It was welcoming.

Quickly he dried and lifted the robe. Shaking it out, he held it before him. "This is going to swallow me whole. It-it's so large!" he exclaimed, slipping it over his body.

He turned to face the mirror. The sleeves hung several inches past his finger tips. The waist line sat just below his hips. He buttoned the robe, but from the waist down there were no more buttons, he hefted the waist up, slightly and used the attached belt, tying it as tight as possible, fabric hung over the belt. The top of the robe draped open, revealing his collar bone and the top of his breast plate. He rolled the sleeves up.

Looking back up at the mirror, "Much better...now I just need to get my glasses cleaned...so I can see properly once more."

Plucking the red frames from the counter, he walked to the door with the remainder of the robe dragging behind him. Quietly, he padded barefoot down the hall.

~xox~

Undertaker was so absorbed in his project that he didn't hear his guest's approach. He treated his work on the shoes in the same way he treated his work on the deceased, giving his full attention to it.

Grell stood transfixed, watching the mortician clean his shoes. The man never realizing Grell stood off to his side. Most of the paint had already been removed, they appeared almost as if brand new. Like with his gloves, the redhead was bewitched with the grace at which the man moved. He couldn't utter a single word, only could watch in amazement, despite how cold his bare feet were. He began to shiver and still he did not disrupt the man's work.

Undertaker grinned broadly when he at last cleared away the last scuff. He didn't really have to go so far with it, but he truly felt bad for making Grell cry and he could be a bit of a perfectionist, once he put his mind to a project.

"There," announced the mortician aloud, still not realizing that he had an audience. He held the boots up to the lamp light for inspection and he kept carrying on the conversation with himself. "Fit for a queen...or a lady in red. Now if I can only reproduce these results with that precious coat of his, he might come and visit again."

With his teeth chattering, Grell asked: "Y-you w-wish for me t-to return-turn for a vis-visit?"

Grell clutched the robe tightly around his small frame, trying to keep the cold out. With no fire in the hearth, the drafts had crept under the hem of the robe, snaking their chilly fingers up his legs.

Quite startled, Undertaker whirled around with the shoes clutched to his chest with one arm. He instinctively called upon his death scythe, and it manifested in his free hand. He blinked near-sightedly at the blur of white, black and red, and his brain clicked into gear and reminded him that he knew this particular blur.

"Mercy," sighed the mortician, his gaze for once un obscured by his hair. "You gave me a fright."

He found that ironic, and he chuckled. Realizing he was still clutching Grell's shoes to his chest, he set them down on the counter and he approached the redhead, getting a better look at him. He began to grin again immediately as he looked him up and down.

"My, my...look at you! Don't you look adorably charming in my robe. I could get used to that."

He sighed, remembering the chattering question asked of him. "So, you heard ol' Undertaker muttering to himself, eh? I don't get much company, I'm afraid..at least, not of the living sort."

He took Grell's chilled hands in his. "I confess, I may not have dumped that paint on you deliberately, but I'm not sorry it happened. I got to spend a little time with a pretty lady from it, after all."

Noticing his shivering, Undertaker frowned. "Why, you're chilled to the bone! How thoughtless of me."

Without ceremony or thought, he embraced the smaller reaper, failing to notice Grell's stare at his revealed, scarred features.

Grell pushed at the taller man, startled. "W-what do y-you th-think you are do-doing, accost-ing me? Un-h-hand me this in-instance!" he ordered.

He wasn't about to admit that he enjoyed the feel of the mortician's arms around him. They were strong and warm. He could have stayed infolded in their embrace for all eternity. But what kind of lady would he be if he acted so wantonly? Nothing good had ever come of it before. No, he must be a proper lady.

"Let m-m-me go!" he demanded once more.

"Nonsense," huffed Undertaker. "I'm not 'accosting you' by sharing body warmth, you silly thing. Have my hands wandered?"

"N-no...b-but this is high-ly im-improper." Grell replied, his struggles lessening, slowly succumbing to the comfort of the man's warmth. It did feel good to be held, just to have someone wrap their arms securely around him.

"M-my feet are c-cold..." he stuttered, the chill still twisting its way up his bare feet and legs.

Undertaker smiled. "We can remedy that."

Without explanation, he scooped Grell up in his arms and started to carry him to the bedroom in the far back.

"Whaa...?" Grell threw his arms around his neck, locking his fingers together, as he was swept off his feet into the mortician's arms. "This is...I d-don't know w-what this is...b-but you probably sh-shouldn't b-be doing this." he scolded.

"Whatever happened to the illustrious flirt?" Teased Undertaker with a wink. "Relax, my dear; I'm only trying to get you comfortable."

He paused at the threshold of the doorway to his bedroom. "I could let go of you now as requested, but I think that would be rude of me at this point."

He turned his head to whisper into the younger reaper's ear. "Do you want me to let you go, Grell?"

Grell swallowed hard as a swarm of butterflies took flight in the pit of his stomach. His eyes met the mortician's, something in the way he said his name. A chill ran up his spine, causing his body to tremble. It wasn't the cold this time, but the man, that so effortlessly held him in his arms.

"I-I..." he searched the man's eyes, a blush painting his cheeks. "No..." he whispered.

Undertaker smiled. "Well then; let's see about making you more comfortable, shall we?"

He carried Grell into the bedroom and he deposited him gently onto the king-sized canopy bed. He scooted the redhead toward the center, before draping the sheets and the rose-embroidered comforter over him.

"Don't worry," assured the ancient, "I wash the bedding every fortnight; even though I rarely partake in it."

Grell sat in the middle of the bed, watching the man pull the covers up, listening, but not hearing his words. Without reason, he reached out, placing his hand atop the mortician's. "Please..." Please what? Don't go? Stay with me? Where was that coming from? What was it that he wanted?

The redhead said nothing more, he didn't know what to say or what he wanted, except he didn't want to be alone. He knew that much for sure. He didn't want the man to leave him. Beyond that, he was unsure.

Undertaker cocked his head to the side in an inquisitive manner, like a wolf. "Please what, dearie?"

"S-stay..." his gaze wandered away, but his hand still sat atop the mortician's.

The mortician smiled. "I would be delighted to, darling."

He sat down on the edge of the bead, and he reached out for the towel still wrapped around Grell's head. "May I? Your hair won't dry very quickly, bundled up like that."

Slowly, the redhead nodded back. His pulse seemed to escalate as his eyes returned to the mortician's face. Their eyes meeting once more. His breath hitched as he saw the smile that they held. There was something else in them as well, something deeper, but Grell was unsure as to what. He held tightly to the covers in his hands, the butterflies taking flight once more in his stomach. He was frozen in his spot. His eyes never leaving the retired reaper's as he felt the man take hold of the towel.

Undertaker unwound the towel and dropped it on the floor to take care of it later. He combed his fingers gently through Grell's damp, crimson locks, his long fingernails acting as a pick to sort out the tangles.

"Lovely," he purred. Red was his third favorite color, next to black and pink. It really suited Grell.

Grell closed his eyes savoring the feel of the man's fingers in is hair. His nails never getting caught or hurting him as they combed their way through. Slowly he fluttered his lids open, meeting the mortician's eyes. Goose bumps sprang up his arms and legs.

"Why..." he started, but quickly shut his mouth.

The mortician smiled, a bit amazed still to see this vulnerable side of Grell. "Why what, dear? Why do I think you're lovely?"

"Why are you being kind? You're never kind...you always tease me. Y-you never help me...Why? Just because you spill a can of paint on me. Is that it? To alleviate your guilt?" Grell snapped, turning his face away.

"My, you're wound up tightly," observed Undertaker with a grin. "It's not good for your health to be so paranoid. You should try to relax more."

He sighed though, because he'd been asking himself the very same question. "To be honest, I tease everyone, my dear. It keeps me entertained. As for why I'm being so nice to you...well...I simply don't like to see a lady cry. Or children, for that matter. It's always been a weakness of mine. Your tears tugged at ol' Undertaker's heart strings."

Grell hadn't meant to snap. The old coot had jumbled his nerves. His touch had a stronger affect on him, than he cared to admit. It frightened him a bit. He had never let the Undertaker get this close before and now he began to ask why? Sure the man was handsome enough, but he had always been so off putting, so not serious. And while Grell knew how to enjoy life and have fun, there were times the man could be so insufferable, never knowing when to stop. That was until today.

Slowly, the redhead peeked through his lashes and glanced at the Undertaker. He sat explaining himself, so sincerely. Had his tears really affected him? Made him want to comfort him?

Softly, Grell spoke, "I am afraid I must apologize. I did not mean to snap at you. I am not use to being shown kindness..." He looked up as a single tear ran down his cheek.

~Oh, Hell's Bells,~ thought the ancient as that one little tear tugged at his heart strings again. He reached out to brush it away with his thumb. "No need to apologize," he assured in a soft murmur. "I'm used to being snapped at."

He grinned as he said it, and he winked, trying to cheer him. "If it makes any difference at all, I never meant to be cruel. I just like a good laugh, is all."

"I suppose that is all you have ever intended, but it was still rude of me to snap and after all you are doing for me, to remedy the situation. Please forgive me?" his brows furrowed, creating a slight pout to is face.

The mortician couldn't resist that if he tried. "Done and done, little rose." He stroked Grell's damp hair soothingly again. Don't you worry your pretty head about it."

Driven by mischief as much as curiosity, Undertaker cupped the back of Grell's head and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.

Instinctively, Grell's hands shot to push the mortician from him. But the feel of his soft lips pressed against his own, his fight faded fast. His hands settled delicately against his broad chest as he melted in the Undertaker's arms. A tiny moan escaped him. His body heat began to rise, stoked by the unexpected kiss.

He'd been bracing himself for a slap, but the favorable response he got instead encouraged the mortician. He deepened the kiss, shifting closer to the redhead to put his arms around him. Undertaker had dalliances now and then; mostly with curious humans. He couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd so much as kissed one of his own kind.

He stroked the crease between Grell's lips with his tongue, tracing it lightly in a silent request for entry.

Grell's lips parted allowing the Undertaker's tongue entrance. His hands began to slide up the mortician's chest, gradually making their way around his neck. Some of his fingers getting lost in the long, silver, locks of his hair. Grell's body began to awaken. It had been so long since someone had held him, kissed him, wanted him. Yes, he knew the Undertaker wanted him as much as he wanted the Undertaker. It was a comforting notion.

It had been nearly a century since he had last been with a man. His last relationship had been with Anne Durless. Unexpected one at that. He was not attracted to women very often, but she had been different. Of course he preferred men and over the past century he had chased a hoard of men, only to be cast aside. They had all found him repulsive and insignificant. But it was Undertaker who had kissed him first, he had wanted him. Grell's heart nearly leapt from his chest at the thought.

Undertaker's pulse quickened with Grell's response, and he stroked his tongue against the redhead's and let his hands wander a little. He was subtle about it, all to aware of how volatile this fey, wild reaper could be. He took care to gradually move one hand from around Grell's waist to his front, his fingers deftly loosening the already baggy robe.

He thrust his tongue deeper into that hot, willing mouth and he paid for his haste immediately, scraping himself on one of Grell's many sharp, pointed teeth. He was too aroused to care, and his blood mingled with their saliva as he seduced the other reaper's mouth.

The taste of blood on his tongue only excited the crimson reaper. He began to suckle the Undertaker's tongue, drinking more of the metallic taste, arousing him further. He felt the mortician's hand fumble with the belt at his waist, but too intoxicated by Undertaker's mouth, he did not care. Let the man ravish him if he wanted. Grell wanted the moment to go on forever. Wanted the feeling to never end. The man felt like heaven to him.

"Mmm..." Grell moaned louder, his back bowing, forcing their chests to press together.

Undertaker finished loosening the belt, and slipped the plain black garment down over one of Grell's shoulders. He pumped his bleeding tongue suggestively in the redhead's sucking mouth, his groin swelling to full attention beneath his robes. His breath quickened with desire as he ran his hand over the smooth, creamy pale shoulder he'd exposed, and he tugged the robe down further to bare more of him.

Feeling the chill waft over his heated flesh, Grell broke the kiss. Panting , he looked the Undertaker in the eyes, searching them. He didn't pull away, but focused on the mortician's touch, the way his fingers feathered over his skin. Grell's lips were swollen and painted red, the blood making them glisten. Casually he licked them.

The mortician followed the swipe of Grell's tongue with his eyes, a thrill of lust jolting him in response to the sensual display. He met the redhead's gaze again and he held it as he eased the robe down off his shoulders. He ran one hand over Grell's lithe chest, and he reached out to trace his bloodied lips with the fingers of the other.

"Aren't you a sight to make a man swell, darlin'," he declared in a low, husky voice.

Grell's hand let go of the silver braid that it had been grasping, clinging to. Gently he placed it over the mortician's hand sliding, it from his lips to his cheek. Grell closed his eyes, nuzzling the man's palm.

"I-I shouldn't be doing this..." he whispered, turning his head slightly. His lips caressing the Undertaker's palm as he placed delicate kisses to it. "You'll think... I am fast, a strumpet."

Undertaker shook his head. "That's a mortal term of shame, love. It doesn't apply to you or I. The only way I'll think ill of you is if you never come to visit again."

Grell opened his eyes slowly. "You won't think any less of me as a woman?" Grell asked, pressing another kiss to his palm.

"Not at all," promised Undertaker, looming in for another kiss. He stopped with his mouth barely an inch away from Grell's, and he smirked.

"In fact, I'll think a great deal more of you."

The damage to his tongue had already healed, so he pressed his lips against the redhead's again and he delved his tongue back into his mouth; taking a little more care this time not to scrape it on his teeth.

Instantly, Grell's eyes squeezed shut, he moaned into the kiss. His hand slid back up the Undertaker's arm, his body begged to be touched. His nails scraped the back of the ancient's head as he pulled himself closer to him.

"Why...now?" he asked, into the kiss. He had to know, why after all these years? Why was it now that the Undertaker wanted him? Why hadn't he tried sooner? Said something? Done something? After all this time, why today?

Undertaker resumed undressing the redhead, planting soft kisses over his face, his jaw and his throat as he disrobed him.

"Why now?" He repeated between kisses. "Honestly, this wasn't planned. I only set out to comfort you, and it turned into this delightful encounter."

He pulled away to look into his eyes, and he smiled a bit ruefully. "I never tried before because I didn't think a pretty young thing like you would want a creepy old codger like me. You made it quite clear that you saw me that way, anyhow."

"I-I... You _were_ creepy! An-and I had no idea how...how wonderful your mouth could feel." his voice dropped, becoming sultry as he pressed his mouth back to the Undertaker's.

Undertaker forced back a chuckle of amusement, not blaming Grell for his impressions of him. After all, he regularly made it a point to intimidate people with the guise he wore. The admission that he liked his kisses made it all okay.

Undertaker finished pulling Grell's robes down, and he couldn't resist teasing him a bit in a different way. He stroked his chest with both hands, pausing to brush his thumbs over the sensitive nipples and make them tighten to rigid little buds.

"Am I still creepy, Grell?" He whispered into his ear, fondling the nipples gently to make them tingle. He nibbled his earlobe, thankful that he wore no constrictive pants or knickers beneath his robe. He was now sporting a tent in the dark garments that a person would have to be blind to miss.

Grell tilted his head to the side, exposing the creamy, pale flesh of his neck. His groin ached from the Undertaker's teasing. He tugged lightly on his silver locks as he answered the mortician's question.

"Yes..." he moaned, "But...in a...nnh... good...ahh... way..."

Undertaker found that encouraging, and he dipped one hand lower, gliding it over Grell's stomach with slow persuasion. From his peripheral vision, he could see that the redhead was pitching a tent of his own in the sheets that covered him to the waist.

"I want to make these lips cry my name," purred the older reaper, and then he claimed those lips again, swiping his tongue back and forth over the part in them.

Breaking the kiss, his eyes shot open. Grell looked the Undertaker in the eyes and asked, "What _is_ your name? In all the years I have known you...I have never learnt your real name."

He quirked his brows as he touched the Undertaker's cheek, his thumb, caressing it. "Please...?" he whispered.

Undertaker smiled at him. "My, I've had so many." He turned his head and he kissed the hand that was caressing him. "Our true names are those we give to ourselves, darling...what we call ourselves in our minds. I was once known by many other names, but now I'm simply Undertaker. I chose it for myself when I retired, and so that's who I am, now."

Seeing by his expression that the redhead was a little disappointed, the ancient smiled gently. "Would you like me to tell you which was my favorite name, of all the ones given to me while I was in service?"

Grell's face lit up, "Please...your favourite?"

He leaned forward, nipping at the retired reaper's ear and purred, "Then I will have a name to scream..." He flicked his tongue, playing with his lobe.

"Khronos," gasped the silver reaper, unhinged by Grell's seductive words.

His response came out as hasty babble, and he pushed Grell down onto his back and covered his lean body with his own, kissing him feverishly in his overpowering need for a connection with him.

"Ooh..." Grell gasped, but was quickly silenced, by the crushing kiss Undertaker bestowed upon him. He slipped one arm around him and the other from the robe he was partially wearing, snaking them around his scar covered neck. His leg rubbed along side the mortician's through the covers. His arousal growing harder as he felt the man grind into him.

Further encouraged by the eager response, Undertaker started to unfasten his own robe with one hand, while balancing his weight on top of Grell with the other. He fumbled with the belt and he growled with frustration when he had difficulty doing it one-handed.

Grell giggled. "Let me..."

Grell moved his hands down the mortician's body, taking a hold of the belt, slowly he untied the stubborn knot. Biting his lower lip, Grell stared up at the Undertaker, his fingers crawling back up the man's torso. Reaching his shoulders, he pushed the robe down.

"There..." he purred, his eyes smiling brightly as he pulled Khronos back down, placing a kiss to his collar bone.

Undertaker shuddered with lust. He hadn't heard that name whispered in passion for ages, and though he'd cast it aside with all the other names given to him, hearing Grell use it roused his passion to greater heights.

"Oh, love," he groaned, finding the redhead's actions entirely too sensual to armor himself against. He suffered a moment of insecurity when the garment slipped away to reveal his scar-striped, alabaster-pale body. He rarely showed anyone the extent of his scars, and he looked down at his companion warily as the elegant fingers began to trace the ones marking his chest and torso delicately.

Noticing a flicker of fear cross Khronos' eyes, Grell inquired, "What is it deary? Is something the matter?"

Undertaker lowered his gaze, and his long, thick silver lashes concealed his eyes. "They're unsightly to most others, I know. I do hope you aren't put off by them."

"What these?" Grell ran his fingers along one long scar across his chest, that snaked around his side, disappearing behind his back.

"They do not put me off... I find them intriguing and sexy. They show that you are a brave and enduring reaper. They are your stories and adventure. Your testament. I-I could never think ill of them. I find them..." his voice lowered to a purr, "Quite sexy."

Pulling the retired reaper back down to him, Grell ran his tongue along the scar crossing his throat, stopping to suckle his Adam's apple.

Undertaker needed no further encouragement. He pulled the covers down to expose Grell completely as he claimed his lips again. He shifted atop him, pressing the rigid length of his sex against the redhead's, rubbing them together intimately. He stroked Grell's tongue with his own, and he resumed his exploration of his body with one hand.

He smiled at the little gasp he provoked from him when he tweaked a nipple. Guessing by his responses to stimulation there that he was quite sensitive, Undertaker began to fondle them one at a time.

"Mm, you like that, don't you?" He purred, breaking the kiss to glide his lips over the arching neck and lower.

"Mmm...yes..." Grell moaned. Biting his lower lip once more, his hips bucked gently into the reaper, urging him on. His leg slid up along the Undertaker's, slipping up over his hip, the redhead's heel pressing into his firm ass. His hands wound through the silver locks, holding the mortician to him.

"Well then..."

Undertaker dragged his lips down to the left bud and he circled it with his tongue, before flicking it against the peak. He gave the other nipple the same treatment and he undulated on top of him, smearing the slippery fluid of Precum between their members. He licked, sucked and tugged at Grell's nipples as he moved on top of him, growling softly with lust.

"Khronos...nnnh..." Grell breathed, squirming under the mortician's ministrations. His back arched, causing him to press his hardened nipple against Khronos' lips. His body felt as though it were on fire, each stroke of the retired reaper's tongue stoked the flames, burning between Grell's legs. His own arousal growing harder still, pressing into the man's abdomen.

The mortician kept it up, lavishing all the attention he could on the squirming redhead's body. He slowly moved down, leaving off kissing his nipples to make his way further down. He continued fondling the saliva dampened, taut nipples with his fingers as he kissed his way down to his next goal.

The back of Grell's knee hooked itself over the mortician's shoulder as he slithered down his body. One of his hands held firmly to Undertaker's silver locks, as the other gripped the pillow under his crimson head. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt the reaper's breath on his arousal. Automatically his toes curled feeling soft lips graze his budding head. A soft moan fell from his lips as the mortician's warm tongue circled the head of his erection. "Khronos..." he began to call out the man's name.

The older reaper smiled in gratification at the response, and he licked his way around the flushed knob, tonguing the ridge underneath, before sliding his lips over the head and taking it into his mouth. He only took it in to the tip at first, and he swirled his tongue over the salty little hole in the tip, making a few viscous drops of fluid leak out.

He kept teasing Grell's nipples as he pleasured him, taking his time despite his powerful need.

Grell's nails dug into the back of the mortician's silver mane. He screamed in pleasure as his body began to buck and thrash below the Undertaker. His knuckles turned white from gripping the pillow so tight. He tried to turn away, but was held in place as the mortician continued his pleasurable torture.

Undertaker took him deeper into his mouth, his tongue flicking and curling against the swollen flesh he pleasured. It occurred to him that he had nothing to use as a lubricant at his immediate disposal. Rather than pause the encounter to go and fetch something from the basement or bathroom, he decided to make use of Mother Nature, instead. It would require some timing and finesse on his part, but he had done it before.

Throbbing with greater lust by the moment, he eased more of Grell's shaft in, keeping his lips tightly sealed around the girth of it. He relaxed his throat muscles and took it in until his nose was tickled by the crisp red hair framing Grell's groin, and then he withdrew. When only the tip remained in his mouth, he licked it firmly before taking the length back in again.

"Khro...nos...ahh...I-I...stop..." Grell started rambling, between moans. "I-I...nnh...no...no more. OH GOD!" he screamed.

His body stood on the edge of ecstasy. Grell felt like at any moment he would die from the pleasure. His body was in over load.

"Khronos...PLEASE!"

The redhead's eyes began to roll to the back of his head as he tried to twist his body. Letting go of the silver locks he clutched at the bed sheets, gripping them, he dug his nails through the thin fabric.

The ancient did stop then; but only to release him from his mouth so that he could finish him off with his hand. He squeezed the redhead firmly and he stroked him off rapidly as he squirmed up and lay beside him. He saw that Grell had bitten his lip and he licked away the resulting blood, before swallowing his cries with a kiss.

Grell let go of the pillow, sinking his fingers into the massive silver locks as the mortician pressed their lips together. His hips thrust, pushing his erection harder into the Undertaker's hand. Parting his lips, he cried into the mouth that covered his own. Their tongues dancing a fiery tango, orgasm creeping ever closer. His body began to vibrate, he was caught in lust's rapture. Falling back against the pillows, Grell's back arched.

Holding tightly to the silver braid in his hand, he screamed, "KHRONOS...!"

His seed spilled over the Undertaker's hand, coating his abdomen as he climaxed. In the mortician's hand. H is member twitched as he floated back down from the arms of ecstasy. Slowly he opened his eyes and peered up at the man looking back down at him.

"Khronos..." he whispered, his hand let go of the sheets and cupped the back of his head. Pressing their lips back together, the kiss was passionate and hot, like embers still burning bright, Grell began to harden once more.

"Hmm, it doesn't take long, does it?" Observed the older reaper with a grin-referring to Grell's short refractory period. "I can see I have my work cut out for me, keeping up with you."

No matter...he was nothing, if not a determined lover. It was a positive thing that Grell was already perking up for another round, in his mind.

Undertaker retracted his long black nails so that he wouldn't poke his lover when he prepared him. he gathered the creamy libation from the younger reaper's stomach and he used it as a lubricant, deftly smoothing it over his fingers and the puckered entrance to Grell's body. He kissed the redhead deeply as he massaged the spot until it relaxed enough to ease a finger into it.

Gasping at the intrusion, Grell gradually relaxed, his legs spreading in response. His eyes met the mortician's, his brows furrowing as he gripped his shoulders, panting. Feeling the Undertaker slide in a second finger, Grell buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. The moans escalating as they fell from his lips, against Khronos' pale flesh.

"Easy, darlin'," purred the older reaper as he scissored, thrust and curled the digits inside of Grell. "Almost there." He nuzzled the drying red hair and shifted atop him, rubbing his aching, swollen sex against Grell's smooth inner thigh. He wanted him so badly that he feared he might spill himself on the first thrust.

Grell gently bit the mortician's shoulder. His tongue ran up his neck, tasting the salty sweat that seeped from his pores. His lips skimmed the heated surface of his throat, pressing them to the Undertaker's Adam's apple and began suckling once again. He could feel how hard Khronos was, how badly he wanted to possess his body.

He looked into the retired reaper's face and whispered, "Take me...now... Make... me yours..."

"Oh, mercy," panted the ancient, at the edge of control.

He thought Grell was ready enough for him, and he withdrew his fingers to position himself. Despite how randy he was, he couldn't resist a bit of teasing. He butted the head of his arousal against Grell's entrance as he slicked the remaining semen over his length for added lubrication.

"And will you be mine after I claim you, Miss Sutcliff?" His voice was husky with need, the demand spilling out past his parted lips without conscious direction. "Will no other touch you?"

Grell hadn't thought about the words he had uttered. He had spoken, lost to lust. Was Khronos asking him to be his and his alone? That would be preposterous. True, they had known each other for years, but they had hardly been around each other. Never talked in friendly conversation, nothing. But here he was in the Undertaker's bed, making passionate love to him and he hadn't even been wooed properly or taken to dinner at least. What was the man asking? This was suppose to be a tryst, nothing more. Wasn't it?

Their eyes met, something he had never seen was now visible in the retired reaper's eyes. It was more than lust, more than desire. He was looking down at him with... No that couldn't be.

Before Grell realized what he was doing, he breathed, "Yes..."

As surprised by his own words as Grell was, Undertaker lowered his mouth to his and kissed him. Why had he made such a demand? Certainly not just because he was randy. He'd never bound himself to another before just because they gave him an erection. He _liked_ this reaper, he realized. He wanted to spend more time with him. This was more than lust; he wanted a companion. He was tired of being lonely.

Without another word, Undertaker breached him, groaning as his throbbing length slowly drove into the tight, gripping heat. His breath caught and he kissed him again, withdrawing to thrust again. He caught Grell's hands in his and he pushed them over his head, holding them there firmly as he began to pump, angling his pelvis to stroke the most sensitive spot in passing.

"Ahh..." Grell cried, squeezing his eyes shut. The feel of the Undertaker entering him taking his breath away. As the mortician, pulled out and reentered him, his body relaxed a bit more and with each thrust after that, the pain dissolved into pleasure. His fingers laced with Khronos' as his hands were pinned above his head. Grell wrapped his legs around his waist, holding him to him. His pants, screams and moans were swallowed by Undertaker, his lips pressed firmly against the redhead's. A single tear managed to slip from his eye. It wasn't a tear of pain or sorrow, but a tear of appreciation and pleasure.

Grell let out a tiny growl. His length being stroked by the mortician's abdomen with each thrust, each glide across his body. He could feel himself growing harder. Khronos also found the spot that could drive him insane. Well...more insane than usual.

"Khronos..." he called, opening his eyes. Time stood still in that moment. He felt his heart melt. The man was not only looking down at him with smoldering eyes, but they seemed to glow. With passion, tenderness and love. Grell turned his head and placed a chaste kiss to the man's wrist.

"You are beautiful," sighed Undertaker. He put more force behind his thrusts, watching every expression of pleasure flitting over Grell's fair features. He loved the way his brows furrowed, the way he blushed, and the way his shapely lips formed the words that erupted in the form of passionate cries.

"Truly...beautiful," reiterated the ancient. He kissed away the tear that sparkled in the corner of Grell's eye. "Am I hurting you, love?"

Crimson locks slipped away, exposing more of Grell's delicate neck as he shook his head, "No...not...nnnh...hurt...ing me..." he whispered.

His eyes were closed as he nuzzled the Undertaker's arm, where their hands were joined. He bit down on his bottom lip and his grip tightened around the mortician's hands. He was nearing climax once more. He could feel the orgasm building deep inside him.

Undertaker couldn't take it anymore. With a low growl of lust, he started thrusting hard and fast. He didn't notice when he cut his tongue again on Grell's teeth. He groaned his name, the sound muffled against Grell's animated lips as he stroked his tongue against his, again anointing it with his blood.

Red nails dug into the backs of pale hands. Grell's lust growing higher as the taste of blood once more painted his tongue. He suckled long and hard until his body was tossed over the edge. He broke the kiss, screaming the reaper's name. Blood oozed out of the Undertaker's delicate white skin as Grell's orgasm swept over him. Warm seed jetted out between their bodies, coating both their stomachs. With back arching, he tightened around Khronos' member. Giving more pleasure to the man riding him as he encased Undertaker deep inside himself.

"Unh...darling," gasped the ancient as Grell's clenching heat did him in. He bucked inside of him, his length pulsing as he filled him to the brim with his release. His body tensed all over as the climax overcame him, and he panted hard. As he rode it out, he kissed Grell tenderly, his lust sated, to be replaced with blissful affection. His tongue was again healing up, and he kissed the spent redhead's cheeks and nose, sighing happily. He released the smaller reaper's hands and he caressed his face, lifting his head to gaze down at him and admiring the way the afterglow made him look.

"I never dreamed we'd end up like this," he confessed when he caught his breath, "but I'm so very thankful for it. Styx bless you for giving this old reaper a chance to show you another side of him, Grell Sutcliff."

A tear sat in the corner of his eye, his legs slowly lowered themselves, brushing along the Undertaker's. Grell reached up and smoothed away the hair that had stuck to the mortician's cheek and brow, glistening with sweat. Grell smiled as he lifted his head to place a tender kiss to the man's lips, cradling him still within his body.

"Thank you...Khronos." he whispered, wrapping his arms around the Undertaker's neck, pulling him down to rest his head against his shoulder.

With a contented sigh, the mortician lay his head against Grell's shoulder and he remained that way for a while, still inside of him and holding him close. He could daresay he enjoyed this part of their encounter almost as much as he'd enjoyed the sex. It had been so long since he'd held anyone in his arms like this.

~xox~

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"What now...?" Grell softly asked.

His foot running up and down the Undertaker's leg, as he kissed his cheek. Grell's fingers, matching his foots rhythm, traced circles on the mortician's back. He could lay there just like that and be perfectly content for the rest of his days, but he knew that was not possible. Inside, the thought of having to leave these warm arms holding him hurt. He still didn't understand what was going on between them. How things had escalated so quickly. But what happens next? That one question ran over in his head as he looked the retired reaper in the eyes.

"Now?" Undertaker raised his head and gazed down at him, the fall of silver bangs partly obscuring his eyes. "Why, now we bask in the afterglow and fall asleep together, as I recall. I know some things have changed since I last shared my bed, but I hope you don't intend to rush out on me, dear. Besides, I still have to finish cleaning your garments off and feeding you breakfast, in the morning."

He rubbed the tip of his nose against Grell's, grinning. "Breakfast in bed. How do you fancy that?"

Grell smiled, shaking his head, "I don't have to be anywhere at the moment. Breakfast sounds..."

A loud rumble emanated from the redhead's belly. His wide eyes met the mortician's, "Perhaps we should have dinner first. I haven't had a thing to eat since well before noon, and I think it may be to early for sleep. The sun was just beginning to set when the world went black on me." A tiny pout crossed his features as he requested something to satisfy his crying stomach.

Undertaker chuckled with delight. "Needy little thing aren't you?" he teased. He kissed him softly and withdrew from his body. "Well then, I'd best see what I have in the pantry. Can't have my lady love going hungry. I could boil some soup bones and make us up a stew, off the top of my head. Would that suffice?"

"Get me the ingredients and I can start it while you build a fire in the hearth. You have me all toasty warm now...we wouldn't want me to grow cold again, would we?" he smirked.

Grell ran his blood red nails down the mortician's cheek, before he let go of him. The absence of his body pressed against his own, sent a tiny chill over his naked flesh. Quickly he pulled the robe up and over his body, slipping his arms back through the sleeves. He tied the belt, buttoning only a couple of buttons. There was no need to button it all the way back up. He giggled as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He felt like he was floating on air.

"Sounds fair to me."

Undertaker got out of the bed and located his discarded robe. After slipping it on, he helped the redhead to his feet. Together they made their way to the kitchen. He started up the coals in the little stone cooking hearth and he rummaged through the cabinets for a hanging pot, before gathering the ingredients from the pantry. As an afterthought, he also liberated a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack and he poured a beaker for Grell and himself.

"I really ought to get out and purchase some real glasses," sighed the mortician as he placed the wine and the beakers on the table to go with their meal. "But I've a surplus of these, so they come in handy."

Grell chopped up vegetables and sliced the beef into cubes. He added salt and pepper, a dash of garlic and water. A touch of milk to thicken the stew, he threw in the bones for added flavour. Some tomato paste that Undertaker had stored from pureed tomatoes and stirred it all together. While it simmered, he picked up his wine beaker and sipped it. A tiny smile painted his lips.

"Nice selection!" he commented, his voice low and sultry. "Is there anything else you would like to go along with the stew?"

He stood leaning against the counter, next to the stove. The robe had fallen open, revealing one, long, soft, ivory leg. His eyelids fluttered closed as he held the beaker to his lips, sipping. He savored the flavour as it swirled in his mouth, before sliding down his throat. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at the Undertaker.

Undertaker looked up from the fire he was stoking, his green-gold eyes scanning Grell's body and lingering on the exposed leg. "Suddenly, I'm not that hungry for food."

Grell giggled, "Is that so? And they call _me_ randy..."

The redhead turned around, sitting his beaker down on the counter. He lifted the lid on the pot and began stirring the stew again. He took a sip of the broth, noticing something was missing, he sat the spoon down and replaced the lid. He opened the spice cupboard. Rummaging, he raised up on his tip toes to look in the back, shuffling the bottles of different spices around. The robe pulled tight against his flexing rear end, revealing the curvature of his toned ass.

Unable to resist, the mortician came up behind him and cupped his bottom, nuzzling his hair as he gave it a squeeze. "You have teasing a man's cock down to an art, my dear. I'll try to contain my lust until after we've eaten, but I make no promises after that."

Having just wrapped his fingers around the cinnamon, Grell yelped in surprise. The feel of the Undertaker's hands groping his bottom made him feel giddy. Slowly, he turned around in the mortician's arms, wearing a bright smile on his face.

"Are you offering to treat me to dessert as well?" he giggled, wrapping his arms around the Undertaker's neck.

"I'm tempted to make a dessert out of _you_, fiery little temptress," advised the Undertaker huskily. He lowered his head to trace the Dispatch agent's lips with his tongue. He gave him a playful little swat on the bottom, before stepping away, lest his passions arise again and steal his senses. Grell jumped again, another unladylike yelp falling from his lips. With a wink at the unpredictable redhead, Undertaker went to the pot and checked the ingredients.

"This looks nice, love."

"It needs a touch of this." Grell replied, holding out the cinnamon, giggling.

He slid his arms around the mortician's waist, after handing him the jar. He brushed the fall of long, silver hair to one side and he leaned up to kiss his neck, while Khronos added the spice. "I would be willing to satisfy your sweet tooth, if you like," He whispered, his eyes closing briefly as he laid his head against the Undertaker's back.

Though the invitation made his groin throb and pull completely taut, Undertaker tried to decline it. "Food first," he said, stirring the pot. "Ravishing afterwards. Styx, I'm a glutton for punishment."

The redhead giggled, "Yes we need nourishment first."

But Grell did not let go. He continued to press kisses across the Undertaker's back, his arms still tightly clasped around his waist.

"Little hellion," sighed Undertaker, waddling over to the cooking fire to hang the pot.

Once he'd gotten it attached to the iron hook hanging down, he disengaged Grell's arms from around his waist, turned around and caught him in his arms, lifting him up. He crushed his mouth against the redhead's and he carried him over to the counter, setting him on top of it and pushing his thighs apart. He slid his hands into the opening of the robe to pull it further apart, baring the younger reaper's long, pale legs to view as he settled his hips between them.

"Do you want me to take you right here?" growled the mortician. "You're tempting me to, love."

Grell's face became severe as he wagged his finger at the mortician. "Tsk..tsk... Khronos." He lowered his voice, turning sultry once more as he leaned forward. "You will spoil your dinner if you take your dessert now." A tiny, naughty giggle passed his lips as he nibbled the Undertaker's ear.

The older reaper ground himself against Grell, the material of his robes the only thing separating their groins. "You sure about that, darlin'? I've got a rather insatiable appetite, once you get me started."

"Nnnh...we do... have... thirty... minuets till... the stew...ahh... will... be ready..." Grell groaned, between kisses that he placed to the mortician's neck and throat.

Undertaker grinned, slipping the rest of the robes off easily to leave the sultry redhead nude on his counter. He undid his own robes to part them and he cupped Grell's bottom, pulling him more tightly against him until their erections were aligned.

"You _are_ a naughty little thing," he purred, reaching down to wind his fingers around both of their throbbing members. His fingertips couldn't meet around the girth, but they didn't need to. He began to pump his hand, and he kissed Grell deeply and tweaked his left nipple with his free hand. He would have loved to lay him down on the counter and take him again, but he had nothing nearby for lubricant and he was too impatient to try the trick with his seed again.

He thrust his hips as he stroked them both off, creating an intimate friction between their shafts that made him groan. His tongue lanced into Grell's mouth to wrestle with his, his breath coming harsher by the second.

Grell took a hold of the mortician's hand, lifting it from his nipple. He broke the kiss, his hips rocked in time with each stroke of the Undertaker's other hand. He flicked his tongue out, licking the Undertaker's index and middle fingers. Gradually he slipped them into his mouth, his eyes locked with mortician's, a wicked grin on his face as he sucked them, coating them with saliva. His teeth scrapping them, but never scratching them. His tongue ran around them and between them, tiny moans encouraging the Undertaker as he pumped the digits in and out, past his lips.

"Insatiable," breathed the mortician, drawing his nails in so that he wouldn't inadvertently stab the back of Grell's throat as he performed his marvelous fellatio on his fingers. He gritted his teeth and squeezed their cocks harder, watching the glaze of pleasure deepen in Grell's heavy-lidded eyes. He paused in his stroking to brush his thumb back and forth over the flushed, captured head of Grell's shaft to make him shiver.

Perhaps he was wrong about his concerns that he couldn't keep up with the vivacious creature; it seemed all the little tease had to do to get him randy was cast a suggestive glance at him and wiggle his tight little bum.

Shiver Grell did, his head fell back, releasing the man's fingers. His eyes closed as he rested his head against the cupboard, biting his lower lip. "You call me insatiable, but you are down right cruel, tormenting as such." he grunted.

"You started it," countered Undertaker childishly, his voice escaping in a breathless groan. He kissed Grell's arching throat, biting down on the creamy pale flesh just enough to sting, and he resumed his pumping. He put his now free hand against the small of the redhead's back, sliding it down to cup his ass as he strove to revisit paradise with him.

"Love," gasped Undertaker, licking the spot he had just been biting. He thrust against Grell's swollen flesh, and he kissed his way down to his collarbone...then further down to his chest. He closed his lips around a rosy nipple and suckled it, flicking his tongue against it insistently.

Grell gasped at the intrusion, his hands held fast to the wood cabinet, he was pressed against. "I-I may have started it... but you...ahh... but you didn't have to follow..." he retorted, breathlessly, his toes curling.

His nails scraped the wood panel on the door of the cabinet. Another moan filled the air, his back arching, pressing his nipple deeper into the mortician's mouth.

Further excited by Grell's response, Undertaker growled softly and fondled the other nipple with his fingertips, moving his hand rapidly over their straining flesh. He felt himself approaching release and he did his best to hold it back, waiting for Grell to reach climax first.

"Mmm...nnh... KHRONOS...!" Grell screamed, collapsing forward, his arms flying around the mortician's neck as his seed once more spilled from his erection. He bit the Undertaker's shoulder lightly, panting. His body shook as small remnants of seed ejaculated from his body, his orgasm sending waves of pleasure all through him.

"Thank death," gasped the older reaper, at the end of his rope. Grell's bite was his undoing. He allowed himself the pleasure of coming all over their stomachs, his libation blending with the redhead's to paint them both with pearly, creamy white. Panting and wondering if he might collapse, Undertaker put his arms around his companion and held him close while he caught his breath. He heard the stew bubbling and he reluctantly eased away from Grell.

"I'd better check on that and get us a tea towel to clean ourselves up," he said, smirking down at the mess coating both of them. "You'll drain me dry, my dear."

"Am I to much for you?" Giggled the redhead. "You're suppose to be legendary." He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He pulled the robe back around him as he waited for the Undertaker to return with a towel. Softly he began to hum, he couldn't remember the last time he felt so high, felt so invigorated. His smile grew brighter and wider as the Undertaker walked back up to him, towel in hand.

Undertaker nearly groaned at the sight of him, and he looked down at his groin. "Surely not," he muttered as it started to stir again. "Behave, you."

He looked back at Grell with a smirk. "And that goes for you, too." He closed the distance and began to wipe the smear of seed from the redhead's body, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I'm an old man. Have pity on me."

Grell cupped his face, "You are only old in numbers. You are not like mortals, love. Your body is strong and can rival that of any youth in the mortal or immortal realm. Stop trying to act like you are old and near death. You are eternal death. You will never be weak." His voice was calm and assuring, lustful and alluring. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

Breaking the kiss, he murmured: "Now lets eat. I am hungrier than I was before." He jumped from the counter and pulled the pot from the fire, carrying it to the table he sat it down on a trivet.

"Bread?" he asked, looking back at the stunned mortician.

Undertaker shook himself out of his stupor, and he closed his robe and hastened to comply with the request. "Of course, lovely."

He hadn't expected that from Grell. Usually, the redhead made it his mission to remind him of how ancient and creepy he was. Now he was praising his virility. It made the mortician grin with the realization that he had indeed shown the pretty little thing another side of him, which few others ever got to see.

They sat down to dinner together and they chatted companionably, finishing off the whole bottle of wine between them before disposing of the leftovers and washing up the dishes. The wine dulled their senses enough to make sleep come easy for them when they returned to the bedroom and cuddled up together, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Undertaker's smile was genuine-not just a mask he wore to deceive others.

~xox~

The sound of a rooster filled the morning air as the sun just began to climb above the horizon. Sometime in the night the redhead rolled from the Undertaker's arms. He faced away from the morning light, his back to the sleeping mortician. The sheet had bunched down at his waist, exposing his back. His leg peeked out from under it, along the bed's edge. His hair was sprawled and fanned out all around him, draped over the pillows. His hand lay delicately next to him.

The sun slowly crept in the window and onto the Undertaker's face—teasing him, trying to wake him from his blissful sleep.

"I'll never forgive myself for not painting over that window," sighed the ancient to himself.

He realized a moment later that he wasn't alone in his bed, and the night before came rushing back as he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his sleeping companion. He smiled and he gently combed aside a lock of crimson hair that had fallen over Grell's eye. Remembering his talk of treating him to breakfast, he decided there was no better time than the present. He planted a soft kiss on the fair shoulder and he eased out of the bed carefully and quietly, so as not to disturb Grell. He left him sleeping there as he went into the kitchen to make breakfast for him, hoping to have it ready and on a tray to carry to him before he awoke.

~xox~

Grell's eyes fluttered open to the feel of soft lips pressed to his own. The aroma of food tickled his nose. He smiled up at the Undertaker. "What are you doing out of bed? And is that tea and crumpets I smell?"

Grell hadn't heard nor felt Khronos stir. He had stayed cocooned in slumber's embrace as the man had risen and vacated the bed. The morning sun had begun to warm him as it kissed his back, through the window pane. He had vaguely heard the Undertaker re-enter the room, the soft clank of the tray being sat down on the stand, next to the bed. It wasn't until he felt the soft, warm touch of Khronos' pale lips on his own that he awoke. Undertaker's piercing green eyes were looking back at him, and a warm smile was on his face.

"Indeed, you do," murmured the retired Shinigami. "I did promise you breakfast in bed, didn't I? Here, scooch up so that I can properly serve you."

Undertaker waited until Grell was sitting up in the bed, before setting the tray gently over his lap. He stroked his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "I'm afraid buttered crumpets are all I have to offer now, but I'll make it a point to go to the market and fetch some things for the next time you visit...which I hope will be soon. The tea is freshly brewed, though. Rose hips and cinnamon."

He straightened up, feeling a bit like a butler but hardly minding it. "Enjoy your breakfast, my dear. Your clothes are nearly dry. I just need to go and give your shoes a good brush while you eat."

Grell reached out to grab his hand, "You aren't going to join me for breakfast?" His eyes widened with surprise. He hadn't expected Undertaker not to join him. "There is plenty here." he pointed out.

Undertaker took hold of Grell's hands and he kissed the top of them, one at a time. "I've already had my breakfast, dear. I didn't want to wake you. Now you eat up, while I ready your clothes."

He pulled away and started for the door, but he paused and looked back at Grell. "Do you like the theater, my dear?"

Grell looked up at Khronos, having just bit into one of the crumpets, it took him a moment to swallow it. "Yes, I adore the theater. Whatever made you ask?" he asked in kind. He sipped his morning tea, awaiting the Undertaker's reply.

"Thought I'd take you out on one of those...date things," answered the mortician, looking down and fiddling his feet boyishly. "If you're up for it during the week, of course."

Lowering his cup, Grell looked up with a sobered expression. "I would love to." He could not help himself, a tinge of pink crept across his cheeks. No one had asked him on a date since he was at the academy. Butterflies sprang to life in his tummy, making him feel light headed. He took a deep breath and smiled up at the mortician, repeating himself, "I would love to..."

Undertaker smiled, relieved in spite of himself. "Then it would be my pleasure. I won't be too terribly long, my dear."

He left him then, fearing he might notice the stain of color bleeding into his pale cheeks.

Once the mortician stepped from the room, Grell fell back onto the pillows the tray bouncing slightly on the bed, over his lap. The tea in his cup sloshed, but didn't spill. He felt as though he could sing all the way to heaven. His cheeks were warm and his heart thudded hard against his chest. He stared up at the canopy, cocking his head, his brows furrowed and his top lip curled. "Pink?!"

~xox~

Undertaker finished taking the clothes off the line on the top of his shop, and he carried them back below to present them to his lover. He was quite pleased with himself, until he happened to hear Grell's exclamation in response to the sight of his choice of canopy covers.

"Pink?"

"Oh, bugger," grumbled the ancient, cringing on the spot. He'd forgotten all about his guilty pleasure when he'd taken Grell into his bed. How embarrassing. Well, the cat was out of the bag-so to speak-so he might as well make the most of it. He forced his feet back into action and he came around the corner and stepped into the bedroom.

"Hullo, love," he said, avoiding looking at his own canopy with all his might. "Look! Good as new!" He held out Grell's clothes for his inspection, having taking care to put Madame Red's jacket on top of the folded pile. "Even the jacket."

Grell did not sit up right away, instead his eyes shifted from the canopy to the mortician as he walked to the bed with his clothing. He noticed the pink dusting on his cheeks. Was he embarrassed by something? Grell looked back up at the canopy, then back to the retired reaper. Did he hear his exclamation? A rueful smile crossed the redhead's lips.

"Oh..Undie...!" he called. He had slipped one hand behind his head, to prop himself up. With the other, he was curling his index finger, beckoning the Undertaker to him.

Undertaker stopped, suspecting a trick. His expression fell and he looked at the clothing in his arms. "You don't care about the clothing you were crying over last night, then?"

His face burned, and he had the horrible feeling that he'd been toyed with. Grell Sutcliff was quite the actress, after all. He noticed the glances the younger reaper cast at his canopy and the ugly feeling twisted harder in his gut. He dumped the clothes on the bed and cast an uncommonly scathing glare at his guest.

"Hope it's to your satisfaction, Sutcliff."

He wanted to add that he hoped he enjoyed the show as well, but the disappointment was like a blade in his gut and he actually felt like he might throw up or cry or both. He turned around and left the room without another word, his mind recalling memories that he wished he could banish forever.

Grell shot up. Surprised by the Undertaker's demeanor. ~_Whatever just happened?~ _he thought to himself.

Carefully, he moved the tray from his lap sitting it on the other side of the bed. He picked up his shirt, throwing it on hastily. He buttoned the first few buttons, giving him a little amount of modesty. He climbed from the bed, dashing down the hall after the Undertaker.

"What the Hell? What was that all about?" he hollered as he approached the retired reaper. Grell stood with his hip out to one side and his hand resting on it. He eyed the mortician, trying to grasp the situation. Trying to figure out why the man had turned on him so suddenly.

Undertaker stopped in his tracks and struggled with himself. Grell's expression of surprise made him think that perhaps he was wrong. "Pink...was her color," he said softly, "My Vivian. I...thought that you were mocking me. Nobody has...shared that bed with me since her."

Grell's expression softened, not expecting to hear the Undertaker's admission. He approached the mortician, laying his hand against his cheek. Grell looked into his eyes, "Why ever would I mock you? I-I was surprised to say the least, but if you cherish that colour... I am sorry... perhaps I should leave."

His heart sunk, of course the man had been in love and apparently still was. Grell knew better than to get his hopes up. He didn't want to compete with a ghost. Better to walk away now, before he was to far in over his head. He released the mortician's face and turned to head back to the room.

Undertaker stared at the trudging form of Grell Sutcliff, and he grew more annoyed. "One little misunderstanding, and you're ready to flee. Here in lies my proof, damn you."

Storming after the retreating redhead, angry that Grell had not only failed to give two shits about finding out why he loved that color, but had also given up so easily. "Don't ever come near my shop again, Sutcliff, if you aren't prepared to deal with the ghosts of my past. I wanted to treat you like a lady, but even that isn't good enough for you. Keep calling me the old creeper...keep taunting me...like you usually do."

He turned around and grimaced. "Just go, if I'm only a source of amusement for you."

Mortified, Grell quickly began throwing his clothes on. His breakfast lay on the bed, barely touched. He draped his coat over his arm, his gloves were stuffed in his pockets, his stockings were on his feet, yet he clutched his boots to his bosom and left his waistcoat unbuttoned.

He glared at the mortician, "I thought you were different. I knew better than to trust you and yet I allowed you to seduce me. A joke! That is all I have ever been. A bloody joke! Laugh...laugh all you want...How dare you treat me in such a manner. You-you Coffin Hugger!"

The redhead stormed to the front of the shop, slamming the door behind him. He dropped a shoe on the way out but he didn't notice. He stood in the cold morning air, unable to breathe, unable to move. He collapsed against the wood, his back sliding down the door. He dropped his items on the pavement next to him. Hugging his knees he began to weep.

On the bed lay his red and white stripped neck ribbon, unnoticed in his fit of temper and pain, he had left behind.

~xox~

Only after the younger reaper left did Undertaker realize what he had done. He charged out the door calling his name...only to find him curled up on the street. He circled around in front of him and he regarded him with conflicting emotions.

"Grell," he said in an aching voice, "I thought you were mocking me. I'm...very sorry. You just seemed so quick to dismiss everything when I tried to explain...here, don't cry."

He reached out for him, trying to make it better. "I didn't want to make you cry, love. I just...I'm protective of her memory, and the color is all I have left."

"I can't see well enough to get home," Grell pouted, pushing himself up. His glasses were missing.

"That's because you ran off without these, my dear," said the ancient, holding out the item in question. He put them onto Grell's face, but he didn't allow him to run off. "One of your shoes is still inside as well. Can you at least allow me to explain?"

Volatile, needy creature, why was he even bothering? Undertaker asked himself this as he looked at the tear-streaked face, and he remembered a time when he'd been in such a similar situation. He'd meant it when he said he wanted Grell to be his. He just wasn't sure how he'd survive such a commitment.

Grell choked on a sob. Coughing, he nodded. "I will listen, but please know...I was not mocking you. I may be a lot of things, but I am not truly cold-hearted or blind to the tragedy of lost love. Had you just come to me when I called..." He looked down, fidgeting with his waistcoat.

"Vivian was the only mortal woman I ever loved," said the ancient with a sigh, sitting down on the cobbles beside him, "and I loved her dearly. It was back when the plague struck, and she succumbed to it. There was nothing I could do, except watch her wither away and die before my eyes. I kept part of her cinematic records in one of my lockets; as I do with all mortals that are special to me. The pain of losing her has faded, but I'll never forget how lovely she looked in pink."

He cupped the weeping agent's chin to lift his head and gaze into his eyes. "Just as you do in red. You aren't competing with her ghost, Grell. If anything, last night healed my old wounded heart...made me think that perhaps I could love another, after all. I'm a protective lover however, and that carries over beyond death. I took it as an insult to her memory when you teased me, and that was my own fault."

He dared to plant a soft kiss on Grell's trembling lips. "Again, I apologize. If you'll give me a chance to make it up to you, I'd like to."

Grell stared deep into the Undertaker's eyes. He was being serious, he was not teasing or casting a joke over him. Grell rather liked this side of the creepy old coot. Undertaker was dashing when he held a genuine smile and wasn't about to use his shortcomings as jokes.

Slowly the redhead nodded, "Yes. I am terribly sorry as well. I had no idea. A little secret love. I happen to enjoy pink very much and I believe it suits you well. I was just surprised, that's all."

Undertaker smiled, oddly relieved. He impulsively scooped the redhead into his arms and began to carry him bride-style back into the shop. "Then let's start with dessert. I make a fantastic pumpkin pie. I know dessert is customarily served after dinner, but I'd like to spoil you; that is, if you have time before you must be off to work."

Holding tightly to the Undertaker's neck, Grell spoke. "Shouldn't I finish my breakfast first? I didn't get very far into it. Although I am sure my tea is rather cold by now. Not that I would turn down pumpkin pie. And I don't have to be at work today. I was suspended..." He looked away and whispered, "Again!"

"Suspended?" Undertaker tried to act surprised, nudging the shop door open with one booted foot and pushing it wide so that he could carry his passenger in. "However did that happen, love? Were you a naughty lady?"

Grell grimaced, "Well...umm...you see I was on a reap and well, I kind of reaped the wrong soul. In the meantime, the soul I was to collect was stolen." He looked away, a small chuckle escaped him. "Will didn't take that very well and when he came to fetch me. He found me not in my office making the report out, but in a field picking daisies. I still have no idea how he found me there." He looked back up, waving his hand in dismissal. "Needless to say... Will suspended me for a week and took away my scythe again."

"You poor darling," chuckled Undertaker as he carried him through the shop to the back curtain. "Seems like each time I see you, you're stuck with those scissors. That William runs a tight ship, doesn't he?"

He pushed the curtains aside with a foot and carried Grell through them, nuzzling his nose affectionately.

Nodding, "Yes, that stoic ass. I have no idea why I ever thought the twat was handsome. He is cruel, hits me over the head. I don't mean to mess up. I just get carried away sometimes. The blood...it's just so pretty." Grell smiled, then asked, "You work on bodies, surely you understand how lovely blood can be, right? Or am I truly the only one who finds beauty in that form of macabre?"

Undertaker smiled, trying not to burst into laughter at Grell's less than flattering use of adjectives for his boss. "Indeed, I do. There is beauty in death, if you know how to look for it; and the human body is such a fascinating thing."

He brought him through the curtain and gently set him down on his feet. "A 'twat', is he? Pffft!" He covered his mouth hastily as he burst into snickers. "Oh my...I...I'm sorry, dear heart, but...bwah-ha-ha! Tee-hee-hee! Oh, my sides! You...you always do come up with the most entertaining phrases!"

Fearing he might piss himself laughing if he kept it up, the ancient struggled to reign in his amusement, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter even after he put a stop to the guffawing. One thing did sober him, though. "He oughtn't pop you on the head, though. He's in a position of power over you, and you can't hit him back."

"Oh yes, that would help my case all the more," said Grell sarcastically. "Hit the boss back...Hmph..." Grell crossed his arms over his chest.

"Now what? You got me back in here. Would you like me to help you bake a pumpkin pie or do you have any bodies to work on? And before we do anything I want to finish my breakfast." He inquired, looking up at the Undertaker.

The room had grown quiet. Slowly, a smile crossed Grell's face. "Don't look at me like that, say something. You are more frightening when you are quiet, than when you are yelling at me."

"Mmm? Oh, I was just imagining snapping William T. Spear's scrawny little neck," said the mortician absently. "By all means, go and finish your breakfast, love. I'll get the pie started in a jiffy."

He gave the redhead a smooch and a little squeeze before letting him go, and he went into the kitchen to begin the prep work for the pie.

Grell giggled. "Would you not rather wait for me to help you? I won't be a minute finishing my breakfast." He peeked around the corner from the hall. "I don't mind baking, especially if you have work to do."

Undertaker smiled at him. "There will still be plenty left to do, by the time you finish. You're welcome to help me then."

He fetched a small pumpkin from the pantry, and he set it on the counter to begin carving and gutting it. "I have a garden of these growing out back, you know...along with some rose bushes. I ought to take you out there after we put the pie in and show you. I think you'd like the flowers."

He began to whistle a folk song as he started to work on the pumpkin.

Grell winked at the mortician, before darting down the hall. He threw his coat over the foot of the bed and rolled the stockings from his feet. He preferred to be barefoot when ever possible. He slipped his waistcoat off and pulled the gloves from his pockets. Slowly he crawled back onto the bed, laying across its width, on his belly. He picked up the crumpet he had started not long ago and quickly devoured it.

A few minutes later, he carried the tray with him and returned to he kitchen. "I am finished. I told you it wouldn't take me long." A fit of giggles over took the redhead as Undertaker looked at him. "I am sorry love, I don't mean to laugh." Grell placed the tray on the table and walked up to the retired reaper. "Here." He reached out, picking pumpkin guts off the mortician's cheek and chin. "My aren't we a messy one." he teased, balling the guts in his hands.

Undertaker laughed when he understood what he was doing. "Thankfully, I'm a bit tidier when handling the deceased. Thanks, darlin'. The bin's just over there, near the archway."

Discarding the ball of pulp, Grell inquired: "Why choose this? If one were to retire, why choose this life, this job?" He looked around the kitchen and the shop, waving his hand.

"I am just curious. One would think you would be sick and tired of death after so long being a reaper. Why not become something else? If you like the mortal realm, there are just as many fascinating things to do."

He sauntered back up to the mortician and leaned against the counter. His fingers strumming through the collection of pumpkin seeds as he watched the mortician began to slice the pumpkin up.

"Ah, but it was the _soul collection_ that wearied me," answered the mortician. He shaved the outer layer off the pumpkin bits and put the orange flesh into a bowl for mashing. "The dead have always fascinated me, and they probably always will. I just couldn't bear any more of reliving their memories, sharing their hopes and regrets and fears. It takes a toll on you after so long. Survive long enough, and you'll see."

"Currently, I live for the juicy bits. I honestly could care less about the other stuff. I just view what I need and fill out the bloody reports." Grell replied nonchalantly as he began to peel the guts from the seeds. "I suppose that must seem as though I am callous, not caring about their lives so little. But honestly, I can't feel much when I watch. For the most part, mortals make such horrid decisions and I am surprised more don't pass on sooner."

He stared at the pulp covering his hands, twisting and turning them over. "I am a bad reaper...aren't I?" His voice was low, a tinge of sadness held in it.

Undertaker regarded him thoughtfully. "No. If anything, I'd say your detachment from their mortality makes you the _perfect _reaper. I was never able to do that, my dear. I empathized too keenly with my assignments and in the end, I couldn't take it any longer."

Grell stood side by side with him, and gradually the redhead laid his head against the Undertaker's shoulder "I am heart—" His words cut off by the jingle, of the bell, which hung over the front door of the shop.

"Sounds like you have a customer. Here, you go take care of business. I can manage on my own." he softly spoke, removing the knife from the Undertaker's hand.

Curious about what he'd been about to say, the mortician shrugged and went to collect his latest "client", leaving Grell to resume where they'd left off with the pie.

Grell finished chopping the pumpkin, dumping the tiny cubes and slices into a mashing bowl. In one arm he held the bowl and in the other, the masher. He softly hummed a tune as he began to mash. It was a sweet little diddy he had learned many years ago. Unfortunately, he had never been able to remember all the words, but the melody, he never forgot. His body began to sway with the rhythm of the song and before he realized it he was waltzing. His eyes were closed and he imagined he was at a grand ball. He was in a lovely red dress and a handsome fellow, held him close in his arms. It was the Undertaker and he was smiling fondly down at him.

The mortician came back into the kitchen to find Grell dancing and humming to himself, and he stopped and watched with a grin. He waited for the redhead to dance his way and he caught him up in his arms and joined him. "I just sold a coffin to a widow," he explained as Grell opened startled eyes to look up at him. "You're light on your feet, my dear."

He twirled Grell around, before putting his arm around him again and taking his hand in his. "Mayhap after the theater, we can go dancing, hmm?"

The redhead nearly dropped the bowl as he was caught up in the mortician's arms. Smiling, he replied, "Dancing?! I would love that. I have always wanted to go dancing. A ball or a hall?" he giggled, realizing he had just made a rhyme.

"We'll see what's available when we go on our date," said Undertaker. "If either option is open, then it's lady's choice." He bent down to kiss him, and then he released him to start on the pie crust.

"Covenant Garden!" Grell chimed in as he continued to mash up the pumpkin. "There you can dress up, take in a show, dance and..." with a devilish grin on his face, he sat the bowl down and wrapped his arms around the mortician's waist. He raised up on his toes and whispered, "Go gallivanting through the gardens." He giggled, nibbling the Undertaker's ear.

The mortician grinned and turned his head to capture those teasing lips. "Covenant Garden it is, then. Shall we say Wednesday evening?"

"Sounds delightful!" the redhead beamed, kissing the mortician back, his finger slipping into the flour. As their lips parted, Grell tapped the retired reaper on the nose, coating it with the soft powder.

"Naughty kitten," admonished Undertaker, and he reached for the flour to return the favor.

"Hey!" the redhead exclaimed, glaring at the Undertaker. Without a word Grell scooped up some mashed pumpkin, smearing it all over the mortician's face. "Pumpkin?!"

"That was childish," accused the ancient, but a grin split his mouth a second later and he snatched some up as well to respond in kind.

"How dare you!" Grell balked. But the redhead could not keep up the expression of being angry, a fit of giggles overcoming him. Wanting to kiss Undertaker's pumpkin covered lips, Grell stepped forward. He slipped on the pumpkin and flour that had landed on the floor. In attempt from falling he grabbed the mortician's arm. It was in vain. Both reapers fell to floor.

"Oof! Well done," grunted Undertaker as he landed on top of Grell. He did his best to avoid crushing him, and he laughed softly even as he looked down at him with concern. "You all right, darlin'?"

"I think I hurt my rear, but..." Grell burst out laughing. "I don't think we are ever going to finish this pie." He shook his head, touching the Undertaker's cheek, and he began to wipe away the pumpkin.

"I think you're right," agreed Undertaker. He lowered his grinning mouth to Grell's face, and he licked a bit of pumpkin mash from it. "I think that I prefer it on you, rather than the crust."

Raising his eyebrow, Grell quietly spoke, "Is that right? If you are good, I might just let you eat it off of me."

Undertaker didn't waste another moment. He proceeded to lick the rest of the pulpy mess off, and he shifted on top of him, pressing his re-awakening desire against Grell's thigh. "You're determined to keep me in a state, my dear," he purred. "I hope you're still able to walk, by the time I finish with you today."

The bell to his shop rang and the mortician sighed, bowing his head over Grell's shoulder. "'Course, I may kill the next person that walks through that door. Oh, bloody hell...I forgot about the girl."

Grell blew a strand of hair from his face as the Undertaker got up and went to greet his customers. "Damn!" he breathed, pushing himself up. He walked over to the sink. Grabbing a towel, he proceeded to wash his face. He looked at the floor and the state it was in.

"Such a terrible waste." he giggled, "Better clean it all up."

He picked up another towel, wet it. Dropping back to his knees, on all four, he began to clean the flour and pumpkin, his hips swaying like a cat's as he moved across the floor.

~xox~

"I'll have her ready for her big day by tomorrow night," Undertaker assured the coffin bearer as he signed for the body he'd delivered. "Tell them my rates are as follows." He marked down the price of each procedure he was to perform on the client, plus any additional work that was required. While he traded in laughter when it came to acting as Ciel's informant or dealing with Scotland Yard, he charged coin most of the time when he did autopsies or prepared bodies for burial. After all, a reaper had to eat, and he had someone in his life now to spend a little money on, too.

The delivery man tipped his hat to him and took the slip of paper he offered back. "I shall see to it, sir. Good day to you."

Undertaker waved as the gentleman walked out the door and climbed back into the coachman's seat of the hearse, and then he shut and locked the door again. He walked over to the plain wooden coffin bearing his newest client, and he retrieved his crowbar to open it.

"Well now, let's see what we have," he grunted as he pried the lid open and looked inside. The young woman was quite the mess, and he took a moment to gaze down at her remains with a smile of appreciation. "My, my...this was quite a gruesome accident, to put you in such a state."

He cracked his knuckles. "Not to worry, my dear. Undertaker will get you all prettied up again. At least your face is still intact."

"You have a new customer I see... Ew.. What in the word happened to her? She's been chewed up and spit out, the poor dear." Grell mentioned as he walked up along side the mortician, peering into the wooden box.

He looked up at the Undertaker, "Khronos, this looks oddly familiar to me." Looking back down at the mangled corpse, Grell became quite pensive. The feeling was growing worse, the longer he stared at the body. He shivered as a cold chill ran up his spine.

"According to her paperwork, she was mauled by a lion that somehow escaped its cage in the city zoo," answered the mortician, looking over the body thoughtfully. "I'll have to get her into the basement and on the examination table for a better look, of course, but her injuries don't seem to match her alleged cause of death."

Undertaker looked at the redhead, his smile fading at the expression on his face. He reached out to stroke his back, wondering what had gotten under his skin. "I take it when you say this looks familiar to you, it doesn't mean you've seen someone mauled by a lion, before. What's troubling you, love?"

Painting a smile on his face, Grell looked up at the Undertaker. "It's nothing. I am sure you are right. A lion. Umm..the kitchen is cleaned. I threw the pie bits out. I am going to run home. You are welcome to join me for dinner when you are done with her preliminary. I am sure it will take you until then to get her cleaned and prepped for a full autopsy, and you will be hungry by then."

Undertaker put his arms around him and kissed him softly. "I would be delighted to, dear. I'll see you to the door."

"Give me a moment to put my shoes on and gather my belongings...or are you tired of me and ready to be rid of me?" the redhead chuckled.

The mortician looked down, startled. "Oh dear. I didn't realize you ran out earlier without one. You're fortunate you didn't cut your feet on something when you ran outside."

"I live barefoot. My feet are used to it. I will write down my address and hand it to you before I leave. Take her downstairs, in the mean time," Grell replied as he started down the hall to the bedroom. His belongings were still strung out all over the bed.

He sat down and slipped his boots on, lacing them up nice and tight. He stuffed his neck ribbon in his pocket and pulled his gloves on. His arm garters he decided to put in his pockets as well. He slid his arms into his red coat. All ready he opened the drawer to the night stand looking for a piece of paper and some ink and a pen. But there was none to be found.

Hoping he might have some in the shop, Grell went to the counter and began rummaging through the drawers, until at last he found an ink well and quill. "Haven't used one of these in some time." he giggled, running his fingers over the soft feather. Quickly, he jotted the address down and ran down stairs.

"Here love... You can't miss it. I am the center house. There is a rose on the gate to the walkway." he beamed as Undertaker read the address, scribbled on the piece of paper.

~_Number 13 Berkeley Square.~_

Undertaker took the slip of parchment and he tucked it safely into a pocket in his robe, beaming at the redhead. "Then I'll see you this evening, darlin'. I should have the young miss cleaned up and ready for embalming, by then."

Guessing that Grell wouldn't be offended by the presence of the corpse—he _was _a dispatch agent, after all—the mortician pulled him into his arms for a goodbye kiss. "Looking forward to dinner," he murmured against the silken lips. "Shall I bring anything? Some wine, perhaps?"

Grell slipped his arms around the mortician's neck, melting into the kiss. "Just bring yourself and I shall have everything waiting for you. Say about six thirty. That should give you some added time to make yourself handsome for me...not that you need it." He smiled, pressing close to the man embracing him.

"Will do, love. I'll see you around six-thirty, then."

Looking back down at the corpse one last time, another chill, shot up Grell's spine. There was something very strange about her, something very familiar. Grell didn't like the way she made him feel and he was glad to be heading home and far from the deceased woman.

"Tata," he whispered as he slipped from the mortician's arms and hurried up the stairs and out of the shop.

Undertaker smiled and watched him go, but their was an unease behind the cheery expression as he looked down at the body. "My, my, what was that about?" he asked the corpse once his lover was gone. "You seem to have spooked him, dear. That's no easy feat. What really happened to you, I wonder, and what does my love know about it?"

He wouldn't find the answers by asking her, of course. To make the dead speak, one needed to examine their secrets more closely. Undertaker pulled his hair back into a ponytail, slipped his surgical gloves on and dragged his instrument tray over to begin.

~xox~

Outside the Undertaker's shop, Grell stood, flagging down a cab to take him home. He didn't feel much like walking, and the corpse inside the shop behind him had him quite nervous. He chewed the tip of his glove as he waited for a cab to pull up, his thoughts wandering back to her wounds. Had her face been touched, he would have sworn that was a woman Madame Red and himself had gotten a hold of—but alas, her face was still fully intact.

He didn't like to think back on his former Mistress. He had loved her and helped her only to be betrayed by her devotion to her nephew. However, Grell regretted killing her. She was a special and unique mortal. He'd loved her very deeply, unlike any female before or after. Over time, he had come to realize his mistake. He would give anything to bring her back, knowing that it was impossible. If things could be changed he would have let her live; just severed ties and moved on...but guilt dies so slowly, when one realizes their mistakes.

A cab came rolling up and the driver inquired if the redhead needed his services. Nodding, Grell gave the man his address and climbed in, taking his seat. He stared out the window, watching the businesses slowly disappear and the residential neighborhoods appear, but his mind kept wandering back to the corpse. She was a handsome woman, but what killed her? He knew by looking at her that there was no way it was a 'lion' that caused her death. No, if he didn't know any better, he could swear she had been had by an altered death scythe. Perhaps Undertaker would have some answers when he arrived this evening. Perhaps he could alleviate his fears. Grell made a mental note to inquire about the mortician's newest customer.

~xox~

"If this was an animal attack, I'll eat my boots," declared the mortician as he finished up and covered the body. The injuries weren't caused by tooth, nail or any other animal part. He could detect a reaper aura around the injuries, though he didn't believe any of them had actually been caused by a death scythe. He sighed, wondering just how many dispatch agents had gone sour in this generation.

"They don't make 'em like they used to," he observed aloud. He smiled when he thought of Grell. "But I can live with that."

Deciding that his love interest deserved at least a little pampering for his gracious invitation, the mortician went up the stairs and out the back to his garden. He selected two flowers from his rose bushes; one black and one red-and he clipped them to bring with him.

He filled a beaker with fresh water to stash the flowers before getting cleaned up and changed for his date. His suits were a bit dated, but he made due and he brushed and tied his hair back with a black ribbon. Hoping his appearance was acceptable, the retired reaper fetched his little gift and locked up before leaving to hail a carriage.

~xox~

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

Undertaker stepped up to the door with his offering in one hand. He rang the bell and stepped back, a little nervous in spite of himself. It didn't matter that he'd already had his date in various ways. He hadn't been on any sort of date for longer than he could remember. He self-consciously straightened the black bowtie at his throat, hoping his appearance was all right.

Grell turned his head, hearing the doorbell. He took one last glance in the mirror and then straitened his skirts. The train dragging behind him as he glided to the door. Letting out a deep breath, he turned the knob and opened it.

With a warm smile, he greeted his guest. "Khronos, welcome! Please come in and make yourself at home." He stepped back, allowing him to enter.

Undertaker smiled broadly at the sight of him, taking him in with appreciative eyes. "Well now," he murmured, "aren't you a lovely vision."

He held out the two roses almost sheepishly. "For you, my dear."

Grell blushed with pleasure. "Thank you... How very kind of you. They are simply lovely." Grell received the roses, lifting them to his nose and inhale the soft fragrance. "They smell beautiful. You also look very handsome. I never would have imagined you cleaned up so well." he teased, closing the door behind the mortician.

Undertaker leaned in for a kiss. "I had good reason to clean up nicely." He murmured against the soft lips. "I haven't had a proper dinner date with anyone in ages."

He sniffed the air hungrily. "That smells divine. What are we having?" He looked around curiously at the interior of the house as he followed Grell to the dining room.

Looking over his shoulder, Grell replied to the mortician's inquiry. "I thought you might enjoy pheasant." Stopping, he turned, grinning wickedly, "I also baked a pumpkin pie for dessert. Perhaps we can have dessert..." he trailed off, dismissing the sentence.

Grell was hoping the Undertaker might get his hint, that perhaps dessert would be better served in bed, but that would remain to be seen. For now dinner awaited.

~xox~

* * *

Undertaker looked at the spread with appreciation. A scarlet tablecloth covered the dining surface, and a candelabra graced the center of the table, burning dark red taper candles in its brass arms. He took a sip of the wine Grell had poured from him and he nodded in satisfaction. He watched as the redhead brought out the plates and he thanked him when he set his before him.

"It looks wonderful," he complimented, but his eyes weren't on the food at all; they were watching Grell.

"Thank you love. It took a lot of effort to look this good for you." The redhead smiled. Bending over, he ran a blood red nail down the mortician's pale cheek. "And the food looks wonderful too...don't you agree?" he winked, giggling as he took his own seat across from the Undertaker.

"Right...the food." Undertaker looked down at his plate and grinned, picking up his knife and fork to begin sampling it. "Now to find out if it tastes as good as the chef who made it."

He pulled some tender meat away from the bone and he brought it to his lips, blowing gently on the steaming bite before placing it into his mouth. The burst of flavor was delightful, and he closed his eyes and hummed with appreciation.

"Mmm." He chewed, swallowed and raised his glass in a toast. "Compliments to the chef. I could never cook a pheasant right, myself. This is a treat."

Grell tipped his head as he accepted the compliment. "I was taught well. Most would never believe I could cook. But I take painful pleasure in doing so, especially when I can offer it to a guest...much like yourself." A hint of lust falling from Grell's lips, casting innuendos over his words.

The subtle flirtation wasn't lost on Undertaker. "I look forward to sampling more of your skills, my dear; culinary and...otherwise."

He took a sip of his wine, his gaze holding Grell's for a moment before he looked down again to cut away more meat from the fowl. He couldn't see his dining companion very clearly at even this short distance, but his vision was good enough to appreciate the sultry look in his long-lashed eyes, and the graceful motions of his hands as he ate. Grell Sutcliff was both male and female to him; masculine in anatomy, but feminine in mannerisms and looks. He was by far the most interesting lover he'd ever taken, and he was probably the most passionate, too.

Unable to resist a little playful flirtation beyond words, the mortician brushed his foot against Grell's beneath the table and he grinned at him as he ate. As his appetite for food was satisfied, his appetite for the cook began to grow.

Feeling the brush of the Undertaker's foot, Grell looked up from his plate. "Don't tell me you are already for dessert?" The redhead, grinned happily behind his napkin.

Had he only known sooner what type of appetite the man had, he would have pursued him rather than wasting so much time and effort, on that cold-hearted beast at the office. Undertaker appeared to appreciate his charms and accept him for what he was, where Will paid little attention and could have cared less if Grell was even in the same room as him. After years of dejection, having been rejected countless times, it was a wondrous feeling to have someone drooling, quite literally over him.

"I've got a sharp appetite," answered the mortician with a coy grin. He finished off the last morsel on his plate and sighed with satisfaction. "I hope you don't think me a glutton."

"Why ever would I think that? I believe you have a very healthy appetite." Grell replied with a devilish grin.

Seeing that the mortician had finished his dinner, Grell pushed his chair back. Rising from his seat, he picked his plate up and sauntered to the Undertaker's side. He reached out to clear the dinner plate.

"Here, let me take this for you and I shall return shortly." he whispered, stacking the plate atop his own.

"Ta," said Undertaker with a smile. He watched Grell as he left, admiring the sway of his hips. He scooted his chair back a bit and he relaxed, sipping his wine as he listened to the other reaper rummaging around in the kitchen. "Need help with anything, love?"

Grell glided back into the dinning room, dessert plates and a serving piece in his hands. "Are you ready for dessert or would you like dinner to settle first?" he inquired, sitting the serving piece and plates on the side table, next to the pumpkin pie.

Undertaker reached out for him abruptly, catching him by the wrist and pulling him into his lap. He grinned at the redhead's startled oath and he put his arms around him, steadying him. "Let's give dinner a few moments to settle, first. I'd like to cuddle."

Grell placed his hands over the Undertaker's at his waist. "Cuddling? You want to just cuddle?" A not so lady-like snort escaped him as he broke out in a fit of giggles. "You my dear are positively the strangest being I have ever met!"

The redhead looked over his shoulder and winked, "But I like that...I like that very damn much."

Undertaker nuzzled Grell's styled hair, appreciating the subtle hint of perfume he detected. "I confess; I'm a serial cuddler. I haven't had much of an opportunity to do it with you yet, though."

He murmured into the redhead's ear, his voice a low purr. "The rest can wait for after dessert."

"Does not cuddling typically occur afterwards and not before?" Grell teased, placing a chaste kiss to the Undertaker's cheek. Grell laid his head back on the mortician's shoulder, eyes closing, relishing the feel of warm arms holding him tight. "Be very careful love, or you just might spoil me. A girl could get use to being cuddled after dinner."

Undertaker shrugged. "I like to cuddle, be it before or after lovemaking. It's one of my favorite things to do with a lover, but I've had so few in recent years, and most were finished with me once they'd satisfied their curiosity."

He gave the smaller reaper a squeeze and he brushed his lips over his temple. "Holding someone close like this is one of the simple pleasures of living, my dear...and I don't get to do it often enough."

Grell opened his eyes, "Yes, I do believe I could agree with you one that. Cuddling is a simple, but wonderful pleasure. And like you, it has been to many years since someone actually wanted to just hold me." he confessed.

He pushed himself up and turned to face the Undertaker, his eyes searching the retired reaper's. "Do others truly use you, for their own curiosity?" he asked sincerely.

"Unfortunately, yes," answered the mortician. "Interested humans see me as the mad eccentric, and they wonder what it would be like to bed someone like me, I suppose. Other reapers see me as an exotic old has-been, who's been around long enough to know a few things they'd like to sample. I'm sure there are other reasons, of course, but whether they know who or what I really am or not, the end result is usually the same. Come morning, they've gone scarce and I never hear from them again—unless I bump into them somewhere."

He sighed, stroking Grell's hair. "I was convinced you would leave the moment your outfit was ready, the morning after our encounter. We had a rocky start to the day, but I'm grateful you stayed to work it out with me."

The redhead smiled, "Thank you for being man enough and wise enough to come after me...even if you did not have to run that far."

He bit his lower lip as he played with the mortician's tie. "Also, thank you for cleaning my items and giving me a place to stay. You didn't have to. If anyone else had seen me, anyone from the dispatch, I would have been the laughing stock."

"All I did was try to right the wrongs that made you cry," answered the mortician gently. He gave him another squeeze. "But I'm glad I did, and you're quite welcome."

Grell gave a fleeting smile to the mortician. He was appreciative no doubt, but also felt bad for the mistreatment he had paid the retired reaper over the years. His face grew serious as he began to speak.

"I would like you to know something...my sweet, sweet Undertaker. I am not a lady that spreads her legs for just anyone. I know my reputation out weighs my words, but I can assure you...I am not in the habit of fucking on a whim. I am just overly passionate and lonely. And had I ever known that you would be interested in me. I would never have played cat and mouse with that damned demon or chased after William for so long. Although I must apologize. I was not very fair to you either. I judged you way to soon and without getting to know you first."

The redhead pouted, tapping the mortician's lips with his fingers. "Shh... let me finish, before you decide to speak."

Grell placed a chaste kiss to the Undertaker's brow, his words poured from his heart as he softly spoke. "Thank you for allowing me to see past your facade and for the chance to get to know you. Please forgive me for being so rude all this time. I would very much like for you to get to know me...the real me."

Undertaker smiled, rubbing Grell's back. "My, what a gracious declaration! I would like that, my dear. I think we all hide our true selves from the world, in some way or the other. It would be my pleasure to be worthy enough to see what lies beneath yours."

He kissed him then, out of words for how touched he was. He never would have imagined himself and Grell Sutcliff like this. He always thought there might be some meaningless sexual encounter with him somewhere down the line, but this was a refreshing change.

Melting into the kiss, Grell let out a soft, contented moan. His arms looped around the mortician's neck, clinging to him as he tilted his head slightly, pressing their lips closer together. Undertaker's tongue fenced with his as the kiss grew more heated, and he loosened the pins holding Grell's hair up into its fancy style. Freed locks of silky, crimson red spilled forth to fall down the smaller reaper's back, and the mortician sifted his fingers through it, admiring the softness. His lips traveled to Grell's neck, and he placed his free hand on the redhead's thigh, rubbing it slowly through the scarlet material of his dress.

Grell gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttered shut. "Khronos..." he moaned, a shiver of pleasure making his entire body tremble. Goose flesh covered his skin. He wiggled ever so slightly in the Undertaker's lap. The pantaloons he wore under his dress were beginning to grow tight and uncomfortable. The redhead's cheeks grew pink, feeling like they were on fire.

"Is it hot...ahhh...in here or...mmm... is it just me?" he asked, panting between gasps of pleasure.

The ancient began to subtly gather up Grell's skirts, slowly revealing his stocking-encased legs. Cuddling became a secondary desire as he swelled in his pants, but he took his time. He kissed and licked Grell's neck as he ran his hand over the black stocking on his left thigh, slowly nearing the source of the redhead's discomfort.

"It is indeed, pretty rose," he agreed in a husky, breathy voice. He nipped at Grell's neck, then kissed the spot to sooth the bite immediately.

Lifting his head, Grell's eyelids lazily opened. His gaze meeting the Undertaker's. His hand slid back around from the mortician's neck and began to play with his tie.

"Perhaps I should loosen this then." Grell purred, undoing the knot.

"Please do." Undertaker's fingers toyed with the garter fastenings on Grell's stockings, before sliding his palm over the smooth, fair hip. His lips left a raspberry mark on the redhead's neck, before moving on to brush over his collarbone and shoulder. His hand roved around from Grell's hip to his inner thigh, the knuckles brushing against the swelling beneath the lacy pantaloons. He teased around that area, sensing the growing tension there. His nails lightly caressed the sensitive skin of Grell's inner thighs, and he began to unlace the top of the redhead's dress with his free hand.

"What a lovely thing it would be," he murmured in a droning voice—not at all like the scratchy one he used when masquerading as the crazy mortician, "to hear you call that name with such quivering abandon again. You are the first I've shared it with since I cast it aside, my dear...but don't call it out just to please me. I want the cry to come from these lips when you can no longer hold it back."

He kissed him on said lips again, unmindful of the lipstick now smearing his own. He traced Grell's teeth with his tongue, greatly daring, as he ran his nails lightly over the bulge in his undergarments.

Grell's body trembled in the man's arms as he slid the tie from around the mortician's neck. His hand gripping the back of Khronos' neck, nails digging into his delicate skin. "Nnnh.." he whimpered, his free leg slipping from the man's lap, sliding between the Undertaker's legs, exposing himself more to the torturing touch of the mortician's hand.

"Insatiable temptress," purred the older reaper, again freeing Grell's mouth so that he could nibble his ear. He slid the material of his dress down over his shoulder when he finished undoing the back, and he teased the surface of the area just beneath Grell's shaft, caressing it with his nails to tickle his balls. He longed to cup and massage them, and he itched to tear the garment open to expose the jewels hidden beneath, but patience was a virtue.

The feel of Grell's pert little bottom pressing against his own swelling goods made Undertaker struggle with his own convictions, though. He rubbed against him, slowly shifting his hips and sighing at the friction it created between his thighs. One pale, rosy nipple peeked out as he dragged the top of Grell's dress down, and he fondled it to hardness, his breath quickening by the minute.

The tie fell to the floor as the redhead was no longer able to hold on to it. He bit his lower lip, feeling the Undertaker's hand on his chest. His back arched pressing himself further into the mortician's caress.

"Oh.. whispering death..." Grell breathlessly uttered, his arousal growing painful. The fabrics of his undergarments were cutting into his heated member. But the pleasure was worth the pain, worth the discomfort.

Unable to help himself, his voice dripped with lust. "Do you plan... to take...ahh me here or... would you...nnnh... prefer a different venue?"

"Hmm, let's just see where the evening takes us, darlin'." Undertaker was so hard now that he felt like he could burst, but he refused to give in to his lust, just yet. He burrowed his hand beneath the top of Grell's dress to fondle the other nipple, and he brushed his thumb of his other hand over the damp spot at the tip of the redhead's erection, rubbing the material of his undergarments against it.

Grell's hand inched its way down the mortician's arm, settling atop his hand as Khronos messaged and fondled his other nipple. The feel of their hands moving as one across his bared chest was erotic and new to the redhead. No one had touched him the way this man did. His head fell back onto the mortician's shoulder once more. He writhed under the ministrations of the Undertaker's hand as his thumb teased his budding head under his skirts.

"Ahh... Khronos, my love... I-I do not know...nnnh... how much more I can take." Grell panted, his nails dug into the arm of the chair. "Please touch me... ahh..." he moaned.

"Ask, and ye shall receive," purred the older reaper, and he tugged down on Grell's pantaloons to expose the full length of his swollen sex. He gripped it firmly, and he slid his hand from the tip to the root, revealing the glistening, blushing tip in full. He moved his hand back up, pausing to smear the viscous drop of fluid over the head with his thumb, and then pulled down again.

He repeated the motions slowly at first, still fondling Grell's nipples one at a time. He slowly picked up speed and he reveled in the sweet sound of the redhead's hitching gasps and moans.

"I'm aching for you, love," he admitted in a growl of desire, "but I won't partake in sheathing myself in you until I've finished you. I want you spent and helpless in my arms..."

Undertaker decided to stop talking, before he worked himself into a frenzy.

"Uh...uh...Khronos!" he groaned, shifting in the retired reaper's lap. Grell could feel his orgasm growing, he knew it would not be much longer and he would give into his climax. His pulse was surging, beating faster than it had ever before. He clung to the chair, he felt like he was drowning. This man, this man could nearly drive him insane with pleasure. He caused reactions that Grell's body had never experienced before. His hips began to gyrate in the mortician's lap, grinding his throbbing erection against the Undertaker's hands.

"That's it, little rose," encouraged the Undertaker breathlessly. "Lovely thing, you are."

He was grinding against the redhead mindlessly now, riding the very edge and positive that he was going to need a change of pants, before long. He stroked him faster, harder, and he paused in pleasuring his nipples to lick his fingertips, making them slick with saliva before continuing, so as not to rub the tightened little nubs raw.

"Feel good, darlin'?" His licked and kissed Grell's neck as his efforts brought him closer to his goal...and closer to spending himself in his trousers. Sutcliff's raw, open passion and surrender was like a powerful opiate to him.

Grell nodded, biting his lip again. "Yes," he whimpered. He could no longer fight his body, ecstasy was pushing him, pushing him over the edge.

"Uh... KHRONOS!" Grell screamed as his body flung itself over the edge. He felt like he died for just a moment as he expelled his seed all over the mortician's hand. The pleasure washing over him, sweeping him away from all consciousness. His member continued to twitch and seep as more seed spilled from him. The inside of his dress coated with his own fluids. His body, exhausted, collapsed in his lover's arms.

Undertaker kept it up until Grell was spent, and then he lost the battle with his own lust and he held the smaller man tight, grunting an oath against his hair as he made a hot, sticky mess in his pants.

"Ahh...unh...bloody H-Hell," moaned the ancient, panting. He laid his head against Grell's bared shoulder, hugging him as he caught his breath.

Turning , Grell placed a kiss to the top of the mortician's silver head. "I...I have never...been with some...someone like you. How do you...do it?" he panted, his body trembling at the mere thought of the Undertaker's hand roaming his body again.

"How do I do it?" repeated Undertaker, puzzled. "There's not really much to putting the needs of my partner before my own...or at least equal to my own. If I'm not giving you equal pleasure to mine, I may as well be going solo."

He kissed him softly, sighing with satisfaction at the results of their play. "I get so much satisfaction out of hearing you call my name, love. Knowing my touch brings you to such a wild, unrestrained state of pleasure. How could I not?"

Drowsy, Grell turned in the mortician's lap, curling up into his arms. "I am beginning to be thankful that can of paint fell on me." he grinned, pressing a kiss to the retired reaper's neck.

"Especially since we managed to correct the damage before it could permanently stain," said the mortician with a smile of his own. He cleaned Grell up as best he could with a napkin, before wiping his hand off with it. "You might not feel so charitable, if I hadn't been able to salvage that lovely coat you so adore." He stroked Grell's hair with one hand and held him close with the other arm.

"While I am overjoyed that my coat was salvaged, you were trying to make up for the... paint job. And I would have come around eventually." Grell smirked, nuzzling the mortician, much like a cat would. "I might have thrown a larger fit, had you not succeeded... but once I calmed, I would have seen your effort and I would have appreciated it."

Lazily, the redhead opened his eyes. He began to play with the long silver braid he had pulled from the ribbon, which he had untied just moments before. "I most likely would have exploded, that is true. I am a drama queen... I must admit. I just require a calm hand to quiet my raging storms. If you can have patience with me... I will melt like butter." he confessed.

The mortician smiled. "I'm willing to put forth the effort for you, kitten. The rewards outweigh the hardship." He reciprocated the cheek rubbing, and his gaze strayed to the forgotten dessert. "Hmm, feel like a nibble?"

Undertaker leaned forward to cut a piece of the pie and set it on a plate, deftly handling the utensil with the skill of a surgeon.

Grell leaned forward, cutting a bite with the fork. "Here, my Sweet." he purred, bringing the nibble to the Undertaker's lips. "I hope it is to your liking."

The mortician opened up his mouth obligingly, allowing Grell to feed him the morsel. He grinned as he chewed, savoring the taste of the spiced pumpkin in his mouth. "Mmm."

Deciding that one good turn deserved another, he took the fork from Grell and reciprocated, forking up a bite to feed it to him. "It's as good as the main entree was, my dear."

Keeping his gaze locked with the mortician's, Grell accepted the offering. Very slowly he slipped the bite from the fork. He hummed as he chewed, licking his lips clean after the pie slid down his throat.

"I am glad you are enjoying your evening, and that my cooking pleases you. It is the least I could do."

Taking the fork back, Grell repeated the process. As he fed the bite to Khronos, he inquired about the body. "Love, that woman who was brought into your shop this morning... were you able to discern what truly happened to her or do you need more time to uncover her mystery?"

Undertaker swallowed his bite and briefly frowned. "I'm reluctant to draw any conclusions just yet, but I can tell you an animal attack wasn't the cause of death."

Grell turned his head to look back at the mortician.  
"Not an animal? Are you sure? Perhaps you were mistaken... no you would not, would you?"

Pensively, the redhead stood up, biting one of the nails of his right hand. His brows furrowed as he began to think. He stopped walking as he reached the other end of the table.

"Do you believe it to be a mortal act, or do you suspect something of another nature?" he questioned, his back still to his new lover. His legs shook under his skirts as his heart sped up. "Do you know what time she passed away?"

"By my estimates, I'd say she passed close to midnight. I haven't found any conclusive evidence that a supernatural was her killer; if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say the dear girl met her end through another mortal. Whoever did this tried to take a little trophy, but they did a sloppy job of it. There was some haste invoked at the end. Mayhap the culprit got interrupted."

Sensing how troubled the redhead was, Undertaker got up and circled around to approach him. He put his hands on Grell's shoulders, and he rubbed his arms. "Why, you're trembling, my dear! What is it?"

Shaking his head, Grell waved him off. "It's nothing, just a chill I assure you."

He looked down avoiding the mortician's gaze. But in his memory he could still see the girl that Angelina had first killed. He had watched from a distance as she hacked the poor chit a part. So enraged, she hadn't cared to be precise or careful. She had been distraught and upset, tears had stained her cheeks along with the blood. The blood, it covered her and everything around her. He scolded her for being so messy, so careless. The only part of that young girl untouched was her face. Her pretty face had been left unmarred, a fact that changed once he began to school his beloved Red.

The older reaper didn't buy his reassurance. "Your pensiveness makes my old head think there's more to it than a chill." He thought about the gory details of the victim, and the injuries she had sustained before drawing her last breath. It was a hack job lacking precision, but it reminded him of another string of murders committed not terribly long ago by Grell himself and his charming, troubled female companion.

Undertaker said nothing. His intuition only went so far, and he trusted Grell to talk to him in his own due time. He clearly had something to work out in that pretty head of his. Rather than try to pursue the mystery of his companion's reaction further, Undertaker coaxed him back to the chair and into his lap.

Reluctantly, Grell followed the mortician. But he didn't fight Khronos, when he pulled him back into his lap. Grell's mind was to wrapped in his reverie to realize that the Undertaker held him once more. It had been several years, but the memories came waltzing back, like it was yesterday.

He had been punished severely for his activities as 'Jack the Ripper'. He had served time under observation at the dispatch medical ward. He had been reprimanded and his beloved scythe taken from him. The worse punishment had been his own mind. The days he spent locked up, he had been isolated and watched. He was left to think. Her face had repeatedly appeared before him. Watching over and over again as she lay slain by his own hand. His beautiful Madame Red. He cried so many nights, wishing he could stop himself from committing the ghastly crime. Time eventually healed his mind, his spirit. He had moved on, been allowed back into the dispatch and to continue working. Then this morning happened. That girl, that pretty young girl in the Undertaker's shop. It was as if he had been transported to that first day meeting Anne.  
Grell shook his head trying to break away from the images in his head. His eyes met the mortician's.

"Hold me..just hold me." he cried, sinking against the Undertaker's chest.

Unable to refuse the plaintive request, the mortician put his arms around him and did so. The only thing more troubling than hearing the heartbreak in his voice and seeing the sparkle of tears in his eyes was his inability to comprehend his bout of sadness and do more for him.

Guided by instinct, Undertaker held him as he would hold a crying child, comforting him with a gentle, reassuring presence. He rocked back and forth with him and he stroked his bright hair, letting him cry it out. He was no stranger to this. During his active duty days, it had often fallen upon him to collect the records of dying children. He'd had a way with them that the younger generations of reapers couldn't seem to master. The little ones never suffered fear or pain for long, whenever he came for them.

"Whatever it is," whispered the Undertaker, "you needn't suffer alone, love."

"I was with you...when she died... you're sure?" Grell sniffled, wiping the tears away. "W-was her soul reaped? Could you t-tell if it was reaped? Or-or was it still there? Did it look like a scalpel...surgical instruments had been used on her? Why would they leave her face intact? Uterus? Was her uterus missing?" He began to ramble, questions pouring from his lips as his body continued to shake.

At once, Undertaker thought he understood. "You didn't kill this one, love. Someone from Dispatch did already collect her records, but hers was a death by mortal hands. Her face was left intact, though the uterus..."

He trailed off with a thoughtful sigh. "It was left behind, but whoever killed her might have tried to take it. They lacked finesse, you see. If they intended to remove it, they did a piss-poor job of it. It was damaged in the savagery of the attack. I suspect the cutting was done by a knife. The wounds were too broad and too jagged to have been caused by a scalpel."

He gave him a squeeze. "There now...shhh. It's all right."

Ordinarily he held a macabre fascination with the cadavers he received for autopsies and funeral preparations, but his curiosity and concern over Grell's reaction outweighed that, now. What a perplexing creature he held in his arms! The flamboyant man had never demonstrated a shred of remorse over his victims before, but Undertaker wasn't sure this was about remorse.

"You...will stand by me then? T-that it wasn't me this time?" Grell asked, looking the mortician in the eyes. "Thank goodness, they didn't take the..." Grell sat bolt upright. "But Anne didn't use any surgical tools or remove the uterus that first time. She butchered the girl, destroyed the uterus...it was not removed. She used a dagger. That is why she was not linked to our string of murders, it was a case of happenstance. I killed the other girls, Anne just removed their uteri."

Grell shook his head in disbelief. "Is it a coincidence?" He thought for a moment before speaking again. "Tell me... do you have any idea as to what was used to kill her?"

"Of course I'll vouch for you, if anyone makes an accusation," promised Undertaker, "and as for the instrument used in the murder, there was more than one. She had a knot on the back of her head and a hairline fracture, so I suspect her attacker came up behind her and stunned her with something blunt and heavy. She has stab wounds and cuts, so I s'pose they might have used a dagger or dirk, along with a keener slashing weapon. They cut her throat when they finished, so she must have been alive during most of it."

"Anne slit the whore's throat as well. Surely you would remember the chit? I know she was brought to your shop." Grell replied, meeting the mortician's gaze. He began to chew on his lower lip. "I am sorry. I-I just get a chill every time there is a murder similar to ours. There have been several copycats and I am always pulled in for questioning." Grell confided, but it was only half truth.

In actuality, every time a similar case sprung up, Grell was not only brought in for questioning; he was locked up and observed for a time period. Not a jail cell, but a padded cell. Once his name was cleared he would be released and put on active duty again. The treatment in the mental ward was not the best. It was humiliating, no privacy, observed twenty four hours a day. It had been worse when he was stuck there for so many months after the 'Jack the Ripper' case. No one, not even Will, knew of what went on behind those closed doors and just the thought alone had kept the redhead on the straight and narrow. Grell shivered once more at the thought of having to spend another night there, under observation.

"Just a few maniacs out trying to make a name for themselves," reasoned Undertaker with a shrug, "because they lack the imagination to come up with anything creative on their own. I recall the girl they brought for my examination, when the Ripper murders first began. I thought it was strange that the first one was so savaged, but the others were done with more precision. It wasn't hard to tie them together though, seeing as they were all missing the same thing. By my reckoning, the first was committed in a blind rage, and after your Madame Red got a taste for blood and realized she could kill more, she became more focused...more professional, for lack of a better term."

He stroked Grell's hair and he frowned. "Just how long do these 'questionings' persist, darlin'? You seem awfully shaken by the prospect of another one."

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the doorbell chiming interrupted the flow of the conversation. Undertaker straightened Grell's dress, wiped his tears away with a napkin and eased him off of his lap. "Better answer that, love. I'll wait here."

Grell paused and looked back at the Undertaker. He looked back with fear and sadness in his eyes. He knew who was waiting at the door. He knew they would tell him he had to be questioned, that he would have to go with them. And if his suspicion was right, then the girl who laid in the mortician's mortuary, had not been on the to-die list.

He swallowed and nodded at his guest. Not really wanting to answer the door, Grell turned and headed out of the dinning area.

"Just breathe. You were not alone last night. You have someone to vouch for you this time." Grell reassured himself, painting a smile in his face as he turned the door knob.

"Good evening gentlemen. What can I do you for?" Grell asked looking at both men.

Standing on his door step was Wilhelm Wundt, the head of the psychiatric ward of the dispatch medical ward and his boss, William T. Spears, supervisor of the Grim Reapers Dispatch Association. Two psychiatric nurses stood behind them. Of course, the nurses were more muscle than anything else. They always accompanied Wilhelm and William. They were there in case Grell needed to be subdued and carried off.

Both men stared back at the redhead, but it was Will who spoke first. "I am sure Mister Sutcliff you are well aware of our presence here this evening."

"And what if I say that I am not?" Grell retorted, glaring back at the two men. His legs felt like jelly as butterflies began to take flight deep inside his belly. He held tightly to the door frame for support. He tried to appear unaffected by their presence, by standing tall. The truth was he found it quite difficult to pull off. The two men simply were just to terribly off-putting.

Undertaker came up behind the redhead, drawn to the sound of the voices his sharp hearing had picked up from the dining room. Seeing Spears and his companions there, he smiled—but the smile was full of quiet menace, the teeth grinning in the manner of a cat about to tear a bird apart.

"Well, what have we here? The Dispatch supervisor and...sorry chaps...I don't recognize the rest of you."

At the sight of the legendary reaper looming over Grell's shoulder, William's demeanor visibly softened with surprise and respect. "Good evening, sir. Please don't concern yourself; this has nothing to do with you." His eyes flashed and hardened coldly as they turned to Grell again. "I had no idea you were entertaining, this evening. It is unfortunate that your plans must be cut short, Sutcliff. You know the routine, so please avoid making an un-necessary scene."

"You'll have to come with us, Officer Sutcliff," added the doctor. "Resisting implies guilt, you know."

Undertaker stepped between the uninvited reapers and Grell, shielding the redhead from them with his own towering, uncommonly dapper form. When he spoke, his voice completely lacked the usual cockney accent and scratchy tone. It was a low growl, and he spoke with perfect, elegant enunciation. "He won't be setting one foot out this door, until you explain your purpose. If your goons attempt to force the issue, you will be seeing a demonstration of why Dispatch was never able to take my scythe from me, upon retirement."

Grell stepped back, surprised to have Undertaker there. He hadn't expected him to walk up behind him, let alone step between him and the other reapers. The redhead listened intently to their exchange.

"Sir...please step aside. This matter does not concern you." The doctor made the polite request, not wishing to have an altercation.

The redhead tried peek around the mortician, but his broad shoulders were to wide for Grell to see around. He was forced to listen and listen alone.

"Mister Undertaker we only wish to ask Mister Sutcliff some questions," explained William, adjusting his glasses. "There was a unscheduled death last night and we wish to rule him out of the matter."

"Then you can question him here and 'rule him out' now," said the mortician, his voice still uncommonly stern and commanding. "I know exactly which death you're speaking of, and I can assure you that Grell had no part in it. He was with me last night, and most of the day as well. He was in my shop when they brought the body to me for examination, in fact."

Undertaker brushed imaginary lint from William's shoulder, smiling like a shark at him. "I'll provide Dispatch with the autopsy and Miss Sutcliff's alibi if necessary, but I won't have you dragging him out of his home unwillingly."

The supervisor's eye twitched. "Sutcliff was here... with you all night?" he inquired, surprised at the retired reaper's admission.

Grell took that as his cue and sauntered up to the Undertaker, hooking his arm with the legend's. "Yes Will... but it was not here at my place, rather his shop. And if you want to ask me questions, you are more than welcome to come in and do so. However, I can assure you I know nothing of said murder." The redhead spoke with an edge of indifference to his voice.

He looked between his boss and the not-so-good doctor. "Now gentlemen, either come in and ask your questions or leave us be. We were in the middle of dessert and I do hate being disturbed when I am enjoying 'sticky buns'." Grell, nearly purred the last bit as he looked up at his lover, before glancing back at the men on his doorstep, his hand petting the mortician's arm.

"Well gentlemen? What will it be? In or out?" Grell asked, growing agitated.

For a moment, it looked like William might refuse to leave. He looked at Undertaker, then at Grell, and he huffed. "There will be a full investigation, and if any evidence is found that could lead to you as a suspect, you _will_ be brought in for questioning."

He straightened his tie and gave a little bow for Undertaker's benefit. "Please excuse the interruption, and have a pleasant evening."

He nodded at his companions and turned away, taking his entourage with him.

Wilhelm stopped mid step and turned back to the redhead. "Miss Sutcliff; one thing before I leave."

He leaned in and whispered in Grell's ear, "My dear, I am not that easily convinced. I shall be watching you. You are mine '_Erdbeer_'. I am no where near through with you." He smiled ruefully at the redhead. Backing down the steps, he made his way to Will and the two brutes.

Grell stood frozen in place, watching the men walk down the path and out his gate. Once they were out of sight, he turned to the mortician. Without a word, he wrapped his shaking arms around the Undertaker's waist and he buried his face against his chest. He felt nauseous inside and disgusted. Just the feel of the doctor's breath on his skin made him feel unclean.

Sensing the sudden shift in Grell's demeanor, Undertaker wrapped his arms protectively around his lover and he frowned suspiciously at the Shinigami doctor as he left. He wanted to grab the strange man and demand to know what that was all about, but right now, Grell needed his attention more. The poor thing was shivering worse than he'd been earlier, when they discussed the murdered girl and the Ripper case.

He had sharper hearing than most though, due to years of honing his other senses to make up for his loss of vision. He'd gone for so long without use of his glasses that his hearing was like a bat's, his sense of smell was like a hound's and his sense of touch was as acute as a feline's.

When they were gone and the door was shut, Undertaker looked down at the trembling redhead in his arms and he asked a simple, gentle question of him, operating on a hunch spurred by what he'd caught of the doctor's cryptic words, and Grell's reaction to them.

"Does dear William know that his medical staff took abusive liberties with you while under their 'care', love?"

Dropping his head and shaking it, Grell answered. "No. William has no idea. No one knows except for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb... the two neanderthals you saw. They follow him every where."

He peered back up at Khronos, his hands still resting upon the taller reaper's chest. "Please say nothing to Will... to no one?" He pleaded. He was embarrassed that the Undertaker had uncovered the truth or at least part of the truth. There was more, much more, but the redhead was not ready to speak further on the matter. Possibly never.

The ancient considered the matter, his head warring with his heart. "It's not my place to tell your associates your business, but if they get their hooks into you again and put you in the hands of that doctor, I'm afraid I'll need to have a word with your superior."

He caressed the upturned face, hating the way Grell's wide eyes implored him so fearfully. "Spears is remiss to turn you over to a mind hacker that obviously doesn't have your best interests at heart. Either your supervisor is more of a sadistic scut than I suspected, or he's completely blind to what's really going on when they lock you up."

Undertaker rubbed Grell's back and he lowered his mouth to his for a tender kiss. "I know you don't want to talk about it love, and that's fine. Just so you know I'm a protective sort, and I'll do what I think needs doing to keep you safe."

Playing with the Undertaker's lapel, Grell became antsy. He wore a tiny smile on his face. "I am sorry dessert was ruined. Would you like some tea or-or can I get you something else? Perhaps a spirit? I have a variety in my liquor cabinet." Grell rattled off. His smiled faded as he pouted up at the mortician. An awkward giggle escaped him as he stepped back from the mortician. His skirts sloshing behind him as he walked back into the dinning room.

He strode straight to the table and picked up the dessert plate and fork as well as the serving piece. He headed to the kitchen to deposit them, where he would wash them later, along with the dinner and cooking dishes. But the moon caught his eye through the small window above the sink. He stood staring up at it. It was a crescent moon lying on it's back. Even it seemed to mock him as it smiled down at him.

The redhead glared back at the moon. "Don't mock me... leave me be."

Something in Grell's behavior disturbed Undertaker deeply. It was if the mere mention of the implications behind the doctor's interaction with him had triggered something within him. He was either in denial, or something had been done to him. He'd followed him in the kitchen to help and upon seeing him staring at the moon and hearing him accusing it of mocking him, Undertaker felt a chill go up his spine.

Grell was unhinged; this was not uncommon knowledge. Undertaker himself was a nut shy of a barrel, and he honestly believed everyone was a little mad on some level. He was the last person alive that would look down on anyone for being insane, but this just didn't seem right. As he watched his lover stare up at the moon, his expression darkened and he silently vowed to find out just what that oily doctor had done to him...and make him pay for it in ways most people could scarcely imagine.

~xox~

* * *

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Hearing the mortician walk in behind him, Grell painted a smile on his face. He was determined to not let the "good" doctor ruin his evening completely. He spun around, meeting the Undertaker's gaze.

"Did you make a decision? What is it I can get you?" The redhead inquired. Slowly he stalked his lover, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "...or would you much prefer something else?" He suggested, his hands sliding up the Undertaker's torso.

The mortician affixed an equally forced smile on his lips, distracted by the possibilities raging through his mind. Fortunately, his mouth was so trained to smile under any circumstance that it came easily to him and appeared natural.

"I think I'd like a brandy, darlin', if you've got it."

Styx, he thought he could probably knock back a few, right now. He hadn't been prepared for how strongly and completely his protective instincts flared up for this reaper. He didn't believe in love at first sight, nor did he tend to fall for lovers as soon as he bedded them...but there was definitely something there beyond lust. He had the self-awareness and intuition to know it would blossom into real love, if he nurtured it.

The question was, could he _survive_ loving someone like Grell Sutcliff that way? The Undertaker was already off his rocker to begin with. He wasn't sure he needed someone driving him even more insane.

"Brandy..." Grell looked past the Undertaker. "Yes...yes I do believe I have a bottle." He hid his disappointment, trying to sound normal as he stepped around the mortician. "Where would you like to take it? The salon?" he inquired, pausing at the door.

Grell began to fidget with his bodice. He felt neglected, passed over for liquor. Doubts began to flood his mind. _~The interruption, did it turn him off? He said he would protect me, but does he truly still want me? I am being paranoid we barely know each other...yet.~_

"Wherever you like, Grell." The Undertaker was finding it dreadfully hard to maintain his cheerful front; it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach to imagine what sort of things that man had done to his delicate rose while he had him in custody. Roses had thorns, though. He'd seen Grell in action before and he knew he was no pushover...which actually made the possibilities regarding how that weasely doctor could have subdued him even more sickening. He didn't want to push for answers, but he couldn't protect his love interest if he didn't understand what he was protecting him _from_.

"Love, pour yourself a stiff one too," he said decisively, losing the droll outer layer entirely. He turned around and he stepped up behind the redhead, rubbing his arms and kissing the crown of his head. "I think we should have a serious talk."

Grell looked up, over his shoulder, at the older reaper. "Whatever about?" The redhead asked, searching his eyes.

"Let's just get the drinks ready first and sit down, lovely. This may be a hard chat for you." Undertaker hated to ask a traumatized soul to part with things he preferred to keep swept under the rug, but this wasn't about satisfying simple curiosity. This was imperative, for his purpose.

The redhead's stomach flipped. He a bad feeling, but he took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright," he sighed, "The liquor cabinet is in the salon. I already have a fire started in there, but I am sure it needs to be stoked. Would you mind... while I fix your drink? As for me, I do not partake in hard liquor."

Slowly, Grell pivoted around to face the mortician. "I will try to answer whatever questions you have; but please do not press me to hard." He then turned, heading out of the kitchen.

"Of course," agreed the older reaper.

The Undertaker went into the indicated room and he stoked the fireplace. He glanced over at Grell as he sat down on the love seat to wait for him. The redhead was moving like an automation. Nothing had been right about his behavior since the visit from Dispatch. He moved like he was detached, and the mortician began to feel like he was losing him before he even had him.

"Sit down here with me, darlin'," he said when Grell finished pouring a glass of brandy and the another with red wine. He patted the spot beside him invitingly. "I'm only going to be asking you things that I feel I must know, if I'm to protect you from Dispatch."

Grell handed the mortician his drink. He smiled shyly as he sat down next to Khronos. He felt nervous, afraid. He crossed his legs and made himself as comfortable as possible. Eyes fixated on the swirling, garnet liquid in his goblet.  
_  
~I know what he is going to ask. How much do I say? Will he want me if I tell him? Hear the man out first Sutcliff. You don't even know what he will ask. He says he wants to protect you. Trust him.~ In his mind Grell was trying to fight the panic that was building inside him. Fears, doubts, they all were surfacing. He wrapped his free hand around his tummy. His stomach twisting in knots. ~Please do not let me get sick.~_

Undertaker took a swallow of brandy, hardly tasting it as he reached out to stroke Grell's hair soothingly. "First thing I want you to know, love, is that besides yourself, Vivian was the only person I ever shared my given name of choice with. Anderson-the reaper you young folk call 'Pops'' or 'Father''-is the only living one of our kind left that still remembers a time when I used to answer to the name 'Khronos'. I don't share that name lightly, and I've revealed a side of myself to you that I've kept bottled up inside since before you even became a reaper. I don't know what's between you and I yet, but it's powerful. Maybe it really does make me mad as a hatter, but I can't walk away from it. I want you to know that, before we start."

The wine in his glass stopped swirling. Grell closed his eyes. When he opened them, he rotated his body, so that he sat on the edge, facing the Undertaker. Carefully he stretched across the mortician's lap and sat the goblet on the table next to the settee. With his hands free, he placed them on his lover's chest.

"Khronos? Do you honestly mean that? Do you truly feel something between us? It isn't me alone?" His eyes sparkled in the firelight as the questions fell from his lips, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes searched the Undertaker's eyes long and hard, afraid he had misunderstood the older reaper.

The mortician caressed Grell's fine-boned features with gentle fingertips, and he nodded. "Death help me, I think there might be. I can't explain why, love...all I know is I felt a fierce need to defend you when Spears showed up earlier with that doctor, and maybe I would have anyway if I'm wrong about our connection, but I doubt I'd feel this...churning rage...at the thought of that man getting his hands on you. I need you to tell me what he's done to you, Grell, and how much sway he's got with Dispatch."

Grell lowered his head, "I honestly have no idea how much sway he as with the Dispatch... nor do I know how he treats his other patients. I just... he is cruel!" He blurted out.

"He is sick and abuses his rights as a doctor." Grell's face contorted as he snarled. "And his goons are always there, helping him."

Agitated, the redhead abruptly stood and walked to the hearth. He placed his hand on the mantle for support as he stared down at the leaping flames. He clutched his stomach with his free hand. "He says I am special... an-and that I belong to him. He calls me Erdbeer...his Strawberry. I cannot even look at the fruit anymore. They remind me of him and make me sick."

Undertaker felt a bit queasy, himself. "Did this start right away, from the very first time you were detained?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Grell shook his head. "The first two weeks I was detained for the Ripper case, was spent in the Reaper prison...Pending my hearing and psych evaluation."

He spun around and looked over at the Undertaker. Debating whether he could go on, if he could say more. His memory was not always reliable, when he thought back to the nine months he was in the psychiatric ward. There were gaps; holes if you like in his memory. He only had feelings and glimpses of the missing pieces. If he mentioned that, would Khronos believe him? Even Grell was not sure if he could believe himself. And as much as he would love to remember everything, he was also terrified of what he might uncover.

"Take your time, love," encouraged the mortician gently.

Grell nodded, "Doctor Wilhelm Wundt." He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "He was assigned to evaluate me. Being in a holding cell at the prison; well at least there I was treated like a reaper."

Pausing, Grell looked to the floor. He began to chew on the inside of his mouth. "Wundt deemed me incompetent. He said that I had been brain washed by the mortal Durless and that I needed to be treated, not punished." A sob racked through him. "I was not brain washed. I had fallen in love. But I, at the time, had not yet come to regret killing her. I-I was still angry with her. Wundt, said I was sick for having feelings for a mortal and they were not real."

"Nonsense," snorted the Undertaker. Having loved a mortal woman once himself, he could identify with Grell. "He's a quack. There isn't a cure for love and it doesn't distinguish between mortals and death gods. What was his suggested 'treatment'?"

"Well...I can tell you that wasn't what was put in my official record." Grell scoffed, walking back to the settee. He stopped in front of the Undertaker. "Nine months..."

Picking his goblet up, the redhead took a swig of wine before continuing. He rolled his tongue, sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. Grell swallowed, "That was all the judge at my hearing would allow him. He said that should be more than enough time to treat me. So I was released into Wundt's hands, for the treatment of brainwashing and addiction to blood. At least, that is what my record states. I should know. The minute I was released, I marched into William's office, demanding to know why I was sent to the ward."

Grell took another sip of his wine, then waved his goblet around. "Alright, maybe not the _minute_ I was released. But when I felt strong enough I did. Will showed me my record. The bloody doctor didn't treat me. He used me! He-he." Unable to control his emotions any longer, Grell broke down and began to cry.

Undertaker got off the couch and put his arms around him. He had a feeling by the way Grell broke down that sexual violations might have been a part of it. Biting back a string of profanities, he tried to calm his anger and comfort him.

"Easy now," he soothed as gently as possible. "It's over now, love."

But that wasn't really true, and he knew it. It never truly ended, for rape survivors. Vivian had been violated too, and it took a long time for her to stop trembling instinctively, with each initial romantic touch. She always apologized to him, despite his reassurances that he wasn't offended. Her experience had awakened a primal fear of men in her, and Undertaker was the only one she came to trust, afterwards.

Grell didn't shy away from his touch, but that didn't mean he wasn't violated at some point. It was different for each individual, he supposed.

"I won't let him touch you again," promised the ancient, "and I'll do what I can to see him punished for this."

"Punished...!" Grell laughed as he backed from the Undertaker's arms. "That son of a bitch? Ha...! No one would believe me."

"Grell Sutcliff... The insane redhead!" He scowled at the mortician. "Do you honestly believe that-that pop-in-jay will be caught? Punished?"

In a fit of temper built from anger and pain, Grell turned and threw his glass of wine at the hearth. The fire roared, instantly filling the room with a wave of heat as the red liquid was absorbed by the flames. The goblet shattering as it hit the back wall of the fire place, splintering the glass to sparkle like diamonds in the grate.

"Enough."

The ancient didn't raise his voice, but his tone held the weight of command behind it, ingrained in him from years long past as a veteran. It bore no resemblance at all to his "mortician" voice.

The salon sat on the same side of the house as the kitchen. Turning from the mortician, Grell stumbled over to the window. The wine was impairing his cognitively. He collapsed on the window seat and peered at the moon.

"It mocks me... just as it did that first night." He muttered, rotating his head to look back at the Undertaker. "You won't want me either. Not when you learn what he did to me."

Grell leaned against the pane of glass. "They came in the middle of the night. To...you know...take me to the loony bin." His hand began to trace circles on the window glass. "I was all alone in that section of the prison. No one heard them enter my cell. The warden was...well actually, I have no idea where the warden was. I just remember being grabbed. A gag was forced into my mouth and as I threw my head back, there was the moon, smiling back at me. Grinning wide... as though it knew what hell I was heading for and relishing that knowledge. The last thing I remember was the feeling of something being jabbed into my neck. A needle...? Yes that was what it was; a needle. He drugged me. I later awoke, naked in the ward."

Undertaker listened with his head tilted and his ancient eyes softened with sympathy. Hearing this account made him feel helpless all over again, and the gruffness he'd used to settle the redhead down faded in the wash of compassion he felt for him. "Is that what you think, rose? That I would not want you, for something that was beyond your control?"

He approached him again, embracing him slowly and carefully from behind. He spoke into his ear, his gaze lifting to the moon beaming down outside. "The moon doesn't care one way or the other, love...but I do," he whispered, before planting a tender kiss there, "and it may take time, but Wundht _will_ receive his just desserts. We'll see to it, together. I just need you to be brave for me, kitten. Brave and fierce, like the lunatic I know you can be—and that's a compliment, by the way."

"I feel... sleepy," yawned the redhead. He laid his head in the crook of the mortician's arm. His eyes fluttering shut.

Growing accustomed to the mercurial shifts in Grell's demeanor, Undertaker smiled. "You've relived a trying experience. Let ol' Undertaker put you to bed, hmm?"

"Yes, bed. That sounds wonderful." Grell nuzzled the mortician's arm.

Undertaker took his cue, and he scooped Grell up in his arms, bride style. "Which way to the bedroom, lovely?"

"Up the stairs, turn left and immediately left again. Go straight through the-the...aha.. door ahead of you." Grell yawned, nestling his head against the mortician's shoulder. "I'm sorry for loosing my temper as...aha... as well."

"Think nothing of it." Undertaker nuzzled his bright hair and started for the staircase. "You were reliving a traumatic experience. I know it wasn't directed at me."

He carried him up the stairs and followed his directions to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot. Shifting Grell in his arms for a more secure hold, he brought him inside and he laid him down on the big canopy bed against the back wall.

Grell's boudoir was of moderate size. Its walls were garnet with gold trims, bordering along the ceiling and around the window frame. The floor was covered in soft sandy colored carpet, a nice offset to the darkness of the room. The furniture was cherry wood and built to be sturdy. A fireplace was off to the side of his bed. The mantle in matching cherry wood, with gold highlights. Dark green tiles with red roses lay as the base of the hearth. Pictures adorned the mantle. Most were painting portraits, but there were a few photographs as well. His bed was a four poster with canopy. Heavy drapes were drawn back on the sides. They were dark green with a red rose print on them, matching the tiles of the hearth as well as the drapes that were pulled back by gold color chords, on the grand windows across from his bed. Moon light flooded the room. The windows were etched with black iron panels, creating the shape of diamonds in them.

Another door sat off to the side of the fireplace, it lead to the washroom. Two nightstands sat on either side of the large bed. A beautiful green comforter lay across the bed, again with the matching rose print that seemed to adorn everything in the room, and his sheets were garnet, below. Running the length below the window was a window seat, covered in red and green cushions. Its base was a book shelf, full, housing a good number of books. On the other side of the room was a large armoire. The room was dark, creating a cozy and romantic feel about it. It Represented the redhead's personality to a tee.

Grell's eyes opened as he felt the bed beneath him and reached a hand out. Gently, his fingers encircled the mortician's wrist. "Please don't leave me?" The request was genuine. He was afraid to be alone and he felt safe knowing the retired reaper was by his side.

Undertaker smiled down at him. "Wasn't planning to, love," he assured, and he began to remove the redhead's shoes and stockings. "Let's just get the both of us a bit more comfortable, eh?"

He kept his touch light and gentle; not sexual. He reckoned the last thing Grell needed after revealing what had happened to him was someone making advances on him. He lifted Grell's foot after peeling the stockings off, and he kissed his foot before dropping it to the bed and removing his own shoes and socks. He took off his tie and lay down with his lover, holding him close.

"I'll stay all night if you want, my dear," he murmured into his hair.

"Yes...yes..." Another yawn caused the redhead to pause, before he could finish his sentence. His lids were growing heavier and it was becoming harder for him to stay awake. "Please stay... and-and would you mind untying my laces. I-I do not...aha... think I should sleep in my corset and b-bustle."

Nodding in understanding, Undertaker sat up and he helped his companion into a sitting position, too. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he undid the items and helped him out of them. He got up to put them safely on the window seat, and he considered the armoire. "Do you have a night gown you'd like to change into, lovely?"

"Top-top drawer of my chest of drawers...aha... next to the armoire. There... there you will find my..." Grell had begun to reply as he snuggled up into his stash of pillows. But then a gentle snore wafted from the bed as he drifted off to sleep.

Undertaker watched him for a moment, and he debated inwardly over whether he should change him while he slept. He had no intention of taking advantage of him, but the redhead was a bit in his cups and if he woke up in something he didn't go to sleep in, he might wonder if something untoward had happened. Deciding it was best to leave him be, Undertaker tucked him in and joined him, holding him close and stroking his hair until he too slipped into dreams.

~xox~

Hours passed as the pair of reapers slept, but in the early hours before dawn the redhead began to moan. His dreams became frightening and he started to toss and turn.

Fog covered London—as it usually did in the wintertime, casting shadows around every corner. Grell had been sent to collect the soul of a prostitute in the dreary East end. The smell of waste and decay made his stomach turn sour. He plugged his nose with his fingers as he wandered down the dark passageways. A black cat hissed as it ran out in front of him, making him jump back, startled.

"Damn cat! Have you no manners? Scaring a lady like that. Shame on you!" He scolded as he continued on his way.

Coming to an intersection, Grell paused. He looked down both ways. An eerie green light glowed to his right. It was coming from the end of the alley. Curious, he turned the corner. The sound of clanking metal filled the air as he grew closer to the dead-end a head of him, but despite the green light he could not make out any shapes. The sounds of moaning and crying began to echo off the walls surrounding him.

"Hello?! Is-is someone there?" He called out. To which there was no reply.

Gradually he moved closer to the sound. A woman's voice…she was giggling.

"Grell, come here darling. I have a present for you. Its wrapped in your favourite colour." The woman called to him, enticing him. Her voice was familiar and yet he could not recall hearing it before.

The redhead replied, his voice quaking. "Who are you? I c-cannot see you. Do I..." He stopped where he stood as a figure began to approach him. "Red?" He gasped. He started to run forward only to realize he did not recognize the person standing in front of him. Yes she was dressed and resembled his beloved Madame Red, but it was not her.

He summoned his scythe, prepared to fight, to defend himself if need be. Something felt off, something was wrong.

"Grell don't your recognize me? Or has death been unkind to me?" She asked as she stepped into the light. Her face was rotted and maggots fell from her lips as she spoke. The bones of her fingers protruded from the skin on her hands. "Grell don't you want me anymore? I killed her especially for you. Remember how you loved blood so much... how you wanted to make them look pretty in their own colour of red." The figure pointed to a corpse lying behind her. The eerie green light fell upon the body of the dead girl in the mortician's shop.

"Come now darling... she needs you. I need you, Grell. My handsome, incompetent butler." She purred, reaching out to take his hand.

"Stay away from me. You are not my Red. She's... she's dead! Don't touch me!" The redhead yelled as he began to back away from her. His body collided with something solid. Slowly he turned around. "NO! Not you two!" He exclaimed, his eyes falling on Wundt's two goons. "What are you doing here? If you're here then..."

"That's right Grell. It's time for your treatment." Wundt's voice rang in his ear as a cold hand touched his warm cheek.

Grell revved his chainsaw, "Don't touch me!" He snapped. Twirling around he swung his scythe, only to slice through air. His eyes darted to and fro, scanning for the doctor. A sharp pain pierced the back of his neck. Grell dropped his scythe, grabbing at his neck. His eyes glossing over. The sound of approaching foot steps catching his attention. He looked up as the Undertaker came into view.

"Khronos?" He whispered, his knees buckling from under him. He landed hard against the cold brick pavement. His eyes fluttering as the drug began to take affect. The feel of hands grabbing at him as he began to call to his new lover, "Khronos! H-help me!"

His eyes shot wide as he saw a figure appear behind the mortician. A wide grin was carved into Wundt's lips as his scythe materialized in his hand. The bright yellow handle of a spade gleamed in the green light, making it almost appear luminescent. Its edge was jagged, an altered scythe.

Grell let out a blood-curdling scream as the doctor brought the scythe down into his lover's back, piercing his reaper's soul. Cinematic records flooding the darkened night.

"KHRONOS!" The scream reverberated off the dark walls of Grell's bedroom. The redhead shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat. His entire body shaking. He was naked to the waist, his pantaloons still covering his lower half. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his hair clung to his face.

Undertaker jerked awake with a start, shaken out of more pleasant dreams than those tormenting his companion. He sat up and took Grell into his arms immediately, guessing by the wild, staring eyes that he was still one foot in whatever nightmare had drawn the scream from his lips.

"Grell...shh, I'm here," he soothed, stroking the disheveled crimson hair out of the younger reaper's eyes. "Calmly now; come back to me. That's it, just look into my eyes."

He was encouraged when the fear-dilated gaze locked with his, and he kept his voice low, soothing and confident. "You're safe, love. Whatever demons are haunting your dreams can't get you here."

With a trembling hand, the redhead touched the mortician's cheek. "I... you... h-he... you're..." Not another word passed Grell's lips, instead he pulled the Undertaker to him, crushing their mouths together. He needed to feel him, to know he was real. He needed to know that he was still alive.

Undertaker returned the kiss, curious as to what he'd dreamt about. He was concerned, but the desperate passion of Grell's kiss made a different emotion rise within him, and he tried to quell it out of courtesy for the redhead's recent trauma. This wasn't the time to let his cock do the thinking.

Grell broke the kiss and sat back, just staring at the mortician. He brushed the silver bangs from the man's face, so he could look him in the eye. "Y-you're not dead." Panted the redhead, trying to catch his breath. "H-he tried to-to take you from... me."

Undertaker smiled and caressed his face. "No, I'm not dead. It was only a dream, my dear. I haven't gone anywhere."

"I-I am s-so sorry. You don't deserve to be... dragged into all of this." Grell swallowed, still finding his breath escaping him. His heart was still racing and goose bumps sprang up over his exposed flesh. He shivered as the cool night air kissed his damp skin.

"Nonsense," countered Undertaker. "I'm here because I want to be, darlin'. Simple as that."

He kissed the redhead's trembling lips and pulled the covers up around Grell, hugging him close to warm him. "I could have walked away at any time, but there's something between you and I. The injustice done to you demands restitution be paid; but right now, my first priority is keeping you out of that weasel's hands. Well, that and snuggling. I do enjoy the snuggles."

He gave Grell a little squeeze and a playful smile, trying to take his mind off of his nightmare.

Grell nuzzled the Undertaker. "I love to snuggle too. Especially with a handsome reaper like yourself." The redhead smiled, strumming his fingers down the mortician's chest. "But I can't h-help it. There was a warning in the way Wundt... the way he called my... I mean the way he whispered his pet name in my ear."

Sitting up right, Grell's eyes met the Undertaker's. "He is up to something. I can sense it...feel it. I don't like it, either. I want to know what the bastard is up to."

"Then we'll find out," insisted the Undertaker, "after you've rested up. You're going to need all your wits to deal with this craven apple-john, and so will I. The question I have for you is whether you'd like to do it subtle-like, or go after him directly? The former is better for your career, but it will take time and frustration, and there is no guarantee that Dispatch will take your side. The latter is better for quick results, but it will doubtless result in you becoming not only an outcast like myself, but a fugitive. If you want my advice, you'll take a few days to think about it before deciding which path you want to take, love."

Grell looked down, the memory of the doctors lingering touch on his cheek. "I just want him to disappear. I just don't want to see him ever again. His touch..." The crimson reaper's head snapped back up, peering into the mortician's eyes. "I just want to forget his touch."

Delicately, Grell laid his hand on top of the Undertaker's. Gradually he lifted it, placing it flat against his chest. He softly spoke his voice full of desperation. "Help me forget it?"

The mortician looked down at the hand that was now lying against Grell's pale chest, with the crimson reaper's elegant, slim hand resting over it. He looked into Grell's eyes, searchingly. "I can't make you forget it," he answered with regret, "but I can try to give you a different touch to remember, whenever those dark memories creep up on you...a loving one."

He slowly stroked his palm over the flat, lean expanse of Grell's bare chest, keeping his eyes locked with his. "And if at any time you need me to stop, my dear, just say so and I shall."

He cupped Grell's chin with his free hand, gently tilting his head to the side to bare his neck for his lips. He nuzzled the spot beneath the redhead's ear before pressing his lips more firmly against it. He felt Grell's pulse beneath his lips, his heartbeat beneath his palm. Khronos moved with infinite care, wary of triggering him. Grell had been wildly passionate during each encounter they'd shared thus far, but that was before that doctor showed his slimy face and set him off.

"I'm with you, love," whispered Undertaker against the silken skin of Grell's neck. "Feel me."

He let his hand slowly glide lower over the redhead's chest, while the other one stroked his hair. He worshiped his throat with his lips, determined not to rush it.

"Yes... I understand." He whispered breathlessly. Grell's eyes closed, his hands resting gently on the Undertaker's chest. "I... only want to ever feel your touch on my body." With each kiss the mortician bestowed, the fire between Grell's legs grew.

Slowly, Grell slid his left hand down the Undertaker's body. His fingers, feathering over each muscle, each scar. "Tell me... how did you get this... ahh... scar?" He asked, moaning. His index finger ran up the scar on the mortician's abdomen.

"That one was left by a former associate's death scythe," answered the mortician softly, pressing a kiss on Grell's collarbone. "As were the rest. I wouldn't be parted from my scythe, you see."

The hand stroking Grell's hair glided down to the small of his back, the long nails skimming gently over the redhead's skin.

"Is it really that important to you? That you would not only risk your..." He paused, opening his eyes. He gently pushed the mortician back so he could look at him. Grell's eyes locked onto the Undertaker's, a tiny giggle bubbled up from his very depths. "Of course you would, wouldn't you? Risk your immortal life to keep that scythe of yours."

"Wouldn't you do the same?" challenged the ancient with a smirk. "The longer we use them, the more attached to our scythes we become. Don't tell me the bloody red reaper would quietly hand his chainsaw over, if Dispatch tried to take it away forever. I've had Skull since the first of us were created. Giving him up would have been like losing a limb."

"Touché! Dispatch would have to pry her from my cold, dead hands." The redhead conceded. "However... that does not stop Pigeon from confiscating my beloved toy from time to time. At least he takes good care of my baby and returns her unharmed to me... that is when my suspensions are fulfilled." He chuckled slightly.

Grell's fingers began to wander further down the mortician's body, following a scar that dipped below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. His eyebrow lifted. "So you say all of these scars were created from a fight with a reaper over your... 'Skull' as you call it." He inquired, biting his lower lip.

"More than one reaper," answered the mortician, his voice going husky as Grell's questing touch came steadily nearer to the source of his arousal. "They came for me shortly after I resigned from Dispatch. The glasses I was willing to part with, seeing as I'd already given them up. Can't say the same for ol' Skull, though. He's part of me now."

He stroked Grell's inner thigh and began to kiss his neck softly. "Two of them didn't live through it. The other survived, but I was the only one that could crawl away by the end."

He said it matter-of-fact, with no tone of arrogance or pride. It was what it was, and he'd buried it in the past along with so many other memories.

Tipping his head back, exposing more of his neck, Grell let his lids fall closed. "Is that so? Were you not... umm... punished for such insubordination?" He asked, gulping.

Grell dipped his hand below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. The tips of his fingers brushing up against his hardened arousal. Still they moved further down, till his palm came to rest over the soft, heated flesh of the mortician's throbbing shaft.

Undertaker barely suppressed a groan of need, pushing into the redhead's touch and kissing his skin more urgently. "They tried, but I had some connections with the right folk. They eventually decided that so long as I didn't...break any dictates of our...society, it wasn't worth the trouble. My old...reputation helped some."

His breath caught as Grell's hand started to move, and he retracted his nails and slipped his hand into the redhead's undergarments to return the favor.

Grell reached down with his free hand and pulled the Undertaker's hand from his pantaloons. "Lay back." He whispered, slipping his own hand from the mortician's pants.

The ancient readily complied, relaxing against the pillows. "Whatever you desire, rose. I'm all yours."

Carefully the redhead lowered himself atop the mortician. Placing his hands on each side of the Undertaker's head, Grell pressed his lips tenderly to the retired reaper's. Gradually his tongue began to beg for entrance, his body heat increasing, desiring to dance with his lover's tongue.

His cock grew longer and harder as he rubbed it against the Undertaker's own stiffened length. He moaned into the kiss, then whispered, "Don't be afraid to... ahh... touch me."

Undertaker was already sliding his hands over Grell's hips with a lover's caress. He parted his lips to allow entry to his mouth, giving the redhead his silent consent to explore at his leisure. His hands curved inward, following the lines of Grell's pelvic bones until he felt the crisp, springy hair framing his groin.

Tongue fondling the redhead's, he gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and slipped the other beneath to palm the sack there. He began to massage them both, gripping his own swollen length along with Grell's.

For just a moment, Grell broke the kiss. His eyes peered down at his lover. "Remove my pantaloons and touch only me." He commanded, nipping the mortician's bottom lip, before his tongue dove back into the Undertaker's mouth.

Grinning at the command, the older reaper did as he was bidden. He helped to balance the redhead as he slipped the garment off of him, and once Grell was straddling him again, he resumed his fondling. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the head of Grell's arousal and he sucked gently on his tongue as it pushed back into his mouth.

If his lover wanted to control the encounter, he would allow it. Grell had his control ripped from him by that quack of a doctor, and this was but a small step in getting it back...helping him to feel safe again. That was just fine by the Undertaker; it was the best he could do for him, right now.

"Nnhh..." Grell moaned his hips jerking as the mortician's thumb brushed over the head of his erection, causing him to thrust hard into the Undertaker's hand. His nails dug into the sheets with each stroke of the mortician's hand.

Needing air, the redhead broke the kiss, throwing his head back as he pushed himself up. He panted heavily as he looked back down at his lover. "Y-you're... you're going t-to make me... ahh... come-come to s-soon." He stammered.

His nails clawing down the mortician's chest, tiny beads of blood appearing in their wake. Bowing down over his lover, he lapped at the trails of blood like a cat drinking milk. "Y-you taste... delicious." He purred.

Undertaker accepted the punishment with a little hiss, finding beauty in the pain. He stopped fondling Grell's balls to stroke his hair encouragingly, allowing him to lap up his blood as much as he liked, before the scratches closed up.

He bucked beneath him impulsively, fighting the desire to roll him over and pin him beneath him. His exposed cock was flushed at the head and glistening with arousal, smearing against Grell's bare stomach as the crimson reaper sampled his life's blood.

"Can't say anyone's ever...said that to me before, love...at least, not about my blood."

Grell smiled wickedly at the statement, his lips stained red. Stretching out over the mortician's body, he pressed their chests together. Excess blood smearing on his own chest, Grell whispered into the Undertaker's ear. "Red looks good on you as well." He nipped the delicate flesh of the mortician's ear. "Reach your hands under my pillow. You will find... something useful." And with that he lowered his mouth to the Undertaker's neck.

Undertaker did as advised, his fingers coming into contact with something smooth and cylindrical. He pulled it out to find it was a bottle of clear oil, and when he opened it, he detected the faint scent of roses. Smiling with understanding, he uncorked the bottle and he dribbled some of the substance onto his fingers.

"I take it you want me to do the honors, darlin'?"

Nodding, Grell whispered, his breath feathering over the mortician's pale skin. "Yes... Take me. Do as you wish." He swallowed, then kissed the crook of his lover's shoulder. "Use my body any way you like. I give myself to you."

"I rather like you right where you are," said the mortician huskily. "I'd like you to ride me, lovely."

He reached beneath and between Grell's straddling thighs to seek out the entrance to his body, and he smeared some of the oil on his fingers over it before breaching him gently. He gripped the base of his shaft with the other firmly, remembering the redhead's warning the he didn't want to come too soon.

With a seductive little smile on his lips, he began to stroke him inside, and he murmured hotly into his ear.

"Let's see what you can really do with these hips, my dear. You set the pace, and when you're ready to burst, I'll have my way with you."

Grell's back arched as he felt the Undertaker's finger, glide into his body. His eyes closed as he nodded in recognition to the man's request. Eventually he lowered his mouth to the mortician's, kissing him passionately as his hips moved with his lover's digits. His left hand's fingers twisted and wrapped around the silver braid in the Undertaker's hair. His other held him up, supporting his weight. Soft moans fell from his lips, passing over his lover's.

"Nnnh... Khronos..." He panted, breaking the kiss. He reached down and covered the mortician's hand. With his fingers covering his lover's, he slowly stroked himself, guiding the mortician's hand up and down his shaft. He bit his lower lip as he looked down at the Undertaker below him. His hips still rocking back and forth as he felt another finger slip into his body.

"Enjoying that, rose?" Undertaker's voice came out in a breathless, husky drone.

He undulated beneath him restlessly, rubbing his aching cock against his inner thigh to leave a glistening trail of precum there. The teasing friction wasn't enough, and he suppressed a groan of frustration. He allowed Grell to guide his hand over his taut flesh, and he began to pump his fingers inside of him, curling them searchingly.

Grell pried the mortician's hand from around his thrumming cock and leaned down. His lips hovered just over his lover's. He whispered, tauntingly. "I want to taste more of you... ahh... I want to drink from you and then... nnh... when you can stand it no longer." He nipped the mortician' bottom lip. "As I said before. Take me however you like. Sweetly and soft or fast and rough. Either way..."

His tongue flicked out and licked the dribble of blood that seeped from the Undertaker's sliced lip. A wicked flame danced in his eye as Grell's voice became darker. "Fuck me."

Carefully, Grell removed the mortician's other hand from his body. Saying nothing more, the redhead, began to slither down the mortician's body. His eyes locked onto his lover's. His nails slicing down the Undertaker's body once more as fresh beads of blood painted his chest and stomach. But Grell did not tarry to drink the beautiful blood, allowing his lover to heal. His mind was fixated and desiring the taste of something else. His body slid over the mortician's legs and his hands grabbed the waist of his lover's pants, pulling them down the rest of the way and disposed of them onto the floor. Grell snaked his hands up his lover's legs, spreading them, he nestled between them. His tongue danced around the Undertaker's heated flesh. Base to tip, it slinked its way up. "Mmm..." He softly purred.

Undertaker tensed involuntarily, sucking in a sharp breath and tasting his own blood on his lips in the process. He was well aware if the danger he was flirting with, letting the shark-toothed reaper put his mouth on his goods-especially considering the blood lust Grell had displayed. Still, he didn't try to stop him. Somehow he trusted him not to damage the cock he wanted inside of him so badly. He stroked Grell's hair and he tried to relax.

"Easy on the package, love," he warned...just in case.

Grell's tongue circled the bulbous head of the Undertaker's erection, before pressing his lips to the burning flesh. Slowly his mouth covered the mortician and inch by inch, Grell took him deeper. Gradually he came back up, gently scrapping his teeth along Kronos' twitching shaft. With only the tip remaining in his mouth, Grell gave a little suck, then quickly he bobbed his head back down, sheathing the mortician once more in his mouth. Deeper, the Undertaker's cock tickled the back of his throat as he repeated the procedure.

Undertaker couldn't suppress a tremor and a groan of pleasure. It had been some time since anyone did this to him, and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and looked down the length of his body to watch. He stroked Grell's fiery hair with trembling hands, eventually curling his fingers into it. It took a mighty effort to resist pulling as he watched his swollen , moist flesh slide into Grell's sucking mouth.

His gaze lost focus as the feel of the redhead's tongue swirling around the tip jolted his senses. "M-mother of death," he gasped, his hips lifting from the mattress. "Grell...love...feels amazing..."

He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillows, silver locks wisping over his face with the motion. His breath quickened as his lover eagerly slurped and sucked, and he knew he wouldn't last for much longer.

"You...you're going to get a bigger taste of me...than you bargained for," he predicted as the pelvic tension grew and grew.

Grell's smile widened. "And what did I tell you to do... when you could no longer contain yourself?" He ran his tongue up along the slick flesh. Grell's own erection began to twitch at the thought of the mortician claiming his body.

Driven to the edge, Undertaker couldn't bear it any longer. With a growl of carnal passion, he grabbed his lover by the shoulders and pulled him up roughly, dragging him along his torso until he was splayed on top of him. He cupped his head and drew his mouth down for a ravishing kiss; cutting both their mouths on Grell's teeth in the process. He guided the smaller man into a straddling position on top of him, and then he lined his stiffened shaft up to nudge into him.

His response to the moan that burst from his companion's bloodied lips was another growl, and he cupped his hips to hold him firmly in place as he drove the long, thick length of his cock into his tight heat, deeper and deeper.

"Nnnh..." The redhead moaned, his head falling back, exposing his throat. Blood ran form his lips over his chin and down his ivory neck. His eyes fell closed, grabbing his lover's wrist. His other hand lay sprawled out on the mortician's chest bracing himself.

Gradually he lifted his head and opened his eyes. His gaze meeting his lover's. "Khronos... ahh... Touch me." He groaned, dragging the Undertaker's hand from his hip to his throbbing cock. "I... I want... to come with... with you."

Grell leaned down for a moment, pressing their mouths together, before his hips began to rock back and forth harder, urging his lover to stroke him. His skin glistened under the veil of darkness as sweat covered his body. His moans grew as he edged closer to his undoing. It would not be much longer till he would spill forth, orgasm in his lover's gentle hand.

The older reaper stroked him slowly, thrusting beneath him and gasping with each pump of his hips. He squeezed Grell's ass with his free hand and he groaned his name, loving every moment of feeling his snug passage massaging his length.

"Ahh...ah, darlin'...you fit like a glove..."

He clenched his teeth and hissed through them, fighting his impending climax to make the encounter last longer. He squeezed Grell's erection more firmly as he tilted his head back against the pillows, and he rubbed the smooth, soft curve of his bottom.

"K-Khronos... I..." Grell swallowed hard as his body began to vibrate. "Nnnh... I'm... c-coming. Ahh... KHRONOS!" He cried out, releasing himself over his lover's hand and stomach. His body clutched all around the mortician's cock, squeezing it, deep inside him. His own length continuing to ejaculate from the Undertaker's continuous stroking.

"Nu...ohh!" He couldn't withstand the assault of pleasure as Grell's ass clamped down on his thrusting sex, and Undertaker arched his back. He lifted his hips off the bedding-as well as the impassioned reaper straddling him-and he spurted hot and hard inside of him. He shook from the intensity of it, his body vibrating with his lover's.

"Grell," he panted as he spent himself within him. When he had nothing left to give, he still continued to twitch inside him for several heartbeats. It finally eased up, and he released Grell's cock to run his hands over the fair, sweat dampened body atop his. Grell looked eerily beautiful to him, with the drying blood staining his lips and throat, and the afterglow of sexual gratification on his face.

"Mercy, love...I think I...lost IQ points, just now," announced the Undertaker breathlessly. "I could swear I ejaculated my brains out."

Giving a little giggle, Grell collapsed atop Khronos. "So you have finally come down to my level then," retorted the redhead.

Raising his chin, Grell, kissed the mortician's cheek. He reached up and peeled the silver locks that clung to Khronos' face. Lightly and nimbly his fingers worked, until every last strand was no longer sticking to the Undertaker's alabaster skin.

"Your skin is like... porcelain love. It looks so fragile... but beautiful." Grell softly spoke, trying to catch his breath. "Khrronos?" Smoothly he pushed himself up to look in his lover's eyes. "I know we-we have only just connected... but years, we have known each other for years." A tinge of pink, dusted his cheeks.

"Ah, Hell! I think I am falling in love with you!" The words rushing from the redhead's mouth.

Quickly his eyes darted away, to afraid he would see rejection staring back at him. He laid his head on the mortician's chest and focused on the sound of his calming heartbeat. His fingers, tracing a scar on the mortician's collar.

The admission surprised Undertaker, but he found it more pleasing than shocking. Still winded from the intensity of their encounter, he stroked Grell's back and he took a few moments of silence to consider his own feelings. He admitted to himself that a part of him was outright afraid to love another...to put his heart on the line again. However, there was no denying the connection he felt growing between them the past two days. He didn't feel this sort of protective devotion for just anybody, either.

"I think I'm falling in love with you too, my dear," he finally whispered. Saying it out loud was easier than he'd anticipated.

Grell looked back up at the mortician, surprised by his reply, to his confession. His eyes were wide, so many emotions swimming in their deep pools of emerald and peridot green. Timidly he spoke, "You are? I expected you to say it was to soon, that it was impossible for me to feel something... after only a couple of days of being together."

He tenderly touched the Undertaker's cheek. "I think this feeling has been inside me for some time."

The mortician grinned. "Even when I annoyed you, love?"

Grell smiled, "Perhaps. I can't be sure about that. I believe I truly despised you those times. However I did always notice the way you handled the Phantomhive brat... that was when I attended my beautiful Red and of course you did not fight me to much, when I stuck you in that pot of salt." He teased, poking the mortician in the chest.

"You have always fascinated me. You only became more handsome when I found out you were not mortal... but in fact a reaper like myself. I believe that was when I truly took notice of you. Though I never would have guessed you would harbor similar feelings the way you jested me." Grell smirked, his fingers crawling up the Undertaker's chest, then bopping him on the nose.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that lads tease the girls they like to show affection?" Reasoned Undertaker with a chuckle. "The same rule applies here, darlin'. That was my way of flirting without making it obvious."

"You lie?!" Grell exclaimed, pinching one of the mortician's erect nipples. Not rough, but enough to make him jump.

"Ack! No, it's the honest to death's truth, you little nightmare!" Undertaker gave him a brief swat on the ass, grinning from ear to ear. He rubbed the tip of his nose affectionately against Grell's. "I've a boyish streak at times, and I thought you might laugh at me if I started making romantic gestures. How else was I to get attention from you, without revealing my attraction outright?"

He sighed, sobering a bit. "Problem is, I'm an old fool who didn't think you'd return my affections. It didn't cross my mind to try wooing you 'till my bucket of paint dropped on you and I saw a more vulnerable side. You might say I took advantage of a damsel in distress."

Grell jerked from the sting of the mortician's hand on his rump. He scowled at the Undertaker. "You really are a scoundrel and a creep." A rueful smile painted the redhead's lips, his face softening. "How deplorable of you. Taking advantage of me like that. I was as black as midnight and you... you..." Shutting up, Grell stretched up. Softly he pressed their mouths together. "Thank gravity for dropping that can on me." He cooed as his eyes fluttered shut and he captured the mortician's mouth.

The mortician chuckled into the kiss, stroking Grell's soft, tangled hair lovingly. He kissed him back with sated adoration and he wondered again how something that started as a curious little crush had blossomed into an almost frightening feeling of devotion and passion. Questioning it further would avail him little. He'd already tripped and he was now entangled in bonds he knew he wouldn't escape; he didn't even want to _try_, now.

"Think you can sleep now, my dear?" he murmured between kisses.

The sun would begin to rise soon, but neither of them had gotten a proper night's rest and he wasn't one to allow his body to drift into fatigue, if he could help it. That was one of the few things their kind was vulnerable to, and he'd faced the unpleasant business of a coma resulting from sleep deprivation before. If he was to protect his lover, he needed his wits and so did Grell. He frowned at the realization that he still had a business to run, and he couldn't be here to guard the redhead from the doctor and his minions at all hours. Grell was more than capable of taking care of himself in most cases, but he'd seen with his own eyes the affect that Dr. Wundt had on him. The thought gave him an idea.

"We can't have you weakening through lack of rest," he said gently, "nor I."

He hesitated, wondering how Grell would react to what he was about to propose. Falling in love or not, they_ had_ only just begun to explore their relationship further. Perhaps it was better to just spit it out. "I think I'd like you to come and stay with me for a while," he said cautiously, "at least during the day, when my shop is open. I'm not trying to smother you, love, but I don't think you should be alone while that thing is plotting to get his hooks into you. I've certain protections around my shop that stop Shinigami and other supernaturals from entering unless I want them to. You could pack a chest and keep it in the bedroom, so's you have whatever you need close at hand, and if you prefer, we can spend the nights here at your home."

He gazed up at him and stroked his hair, hoping he wasn't overstepping himself. "What do you say? Care to shack up with ol' Khronos for a bit?"

Grell's eyes grew wide and he blinked a few times before replying. "I-I... umm... well I suppose." He shrugged, swallowing hard. The proposal, unexpected and surprising.

"I mean..." he blushed. "I wouldn't want to impose. Nor do I wish to rush things anymore than they already have been. Are you sure you won't grow tired of me so quickly... if I accept?" Grell inquired, unsure how else to respond.

While he was very flattered by the offer, he was also afraid of scaring the reaper away. He had a terrible fondness for him and he had a tendency to ruin things. Would he be the wind of change for him? Bring him some luck? Grell pondered as he studied the mortician's face.

Undertaker smiled fondly at him and shook his head. "Can't see that happening, love. I find you endlessly entertaining, even when you're being a brat."

"Why you!" Grell huffed. He reached under the Undertaker's head and yanked the pillow out from under him. Covering Khronos' face with the feather stuffed case, pretending to smother him.

Undertaker put up a convincing struggle, before gradually lying still. He painted on a dramatic, dead expression with his tongue lolling out and his eyes rolled back when Grell pulled the pillow away.

"Well that did it," sighed Grell. "I guess I should get this corpse out of my bed. Wouldn't want it to rot and make my room smell displeasing." Grell started to roll off of his lover. He knew the mortician wasn't dead of course, but two could play at this game.

Undertaker grabbed him abruptly and rolled onto him, pinning him beneath him. With a wide grin, he growled and nipped playfully at the redhead.

Giggling, the redhead scolded the mortician. "Pretending? You were pretending to be dead? How very unkind of you to not be so." His eyes held mischief in them as he stared up at his lover. His foot began to caress the back of the Undertaker's leg.

Undertaker's chuckles faded, and he stared down at the smaller reaper with suddenly softened eyes. He admired the way the crimson hair framed his head, and he lowered his mouth to his for a kiss.

"Mmm..." the redhead moaned, his eyes closing, savoring those pale lips once more. His lips parted, enticing the mortician's tongue to join his in a passionate dance. His body wiggling slightly below the retired reaper's body. His leg continued to glide up and down the Undertaker's side. The red painted tips of his toes curling with each pass over the scarred flesh.

Undertaker deepened the kiss, his passions quickly aroused by the moment. They were supposed to be going to sleep, of course. When he felt Grell's answering arousal against his thigh, he knew sleep would be a long way off.

"Looks like I'll be opening up shop late," he murmured as his hands began to wander. It wasn't a complaint by any means. He hadn't had a reason to open late for quite some time. He proceeded to make love to Grell again...and yet again after that. Rough, tender, passionate...he gave it all to him in various degrees until the sun came up and they were both too exhausted for more.

~xox~

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight filled the room, bathing the two sleeping reapers in warmth. Reluctantly, Grell stirred. He blinked a few times, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. The weight of an arm across his belly had him turning his head. He smiled as he gazed over at the mortician snuggled up against him. He brushed a strand of silver hair from his lover's face, but he didn't wake him right away. Instead he lay there admiring the reaper next to him. Who would have ever thought, he and the morbid mortician would end up in each other's arms. It was nice. The Undertaker didn't treat him like a freak... well not any longer. He confessed that he had always had a fancy for Grell and that made the redhead feel special for the first time in his reaper life. It was also welcoming that Khronos respected him enough to address him properly.

The other reapers refused to accept that he was a lady, deep down inside. For the most part, their calling him in masculine pronouns didn't bother him, but it made him feel more like himself knowing the reaper next to him accepted him the way he was. True, in the past, Khronos had hurt his feelings with his teasing, but the mortician made up for it plenty last night. Grell bit his lower lip, just thinking about the passions the reaper had displayed over the night. Rough, passionate, slow... they had made love various ways. Several times in fact, till they passed out from exhaustion. Grell moved slightly and was reminded just how rough a few times had been. He was a tad sore, but it was worth the discomfort. He was the Undertaker's and the Undertaker was his. Someone wanted him, wanted to love and protect him.

After a moment of reflection, Grell rolled to face his lover. He delicately touched the sleeping reaper's cheek. "Khronos." He whispered, kissing the mortician's lips tenderly.

Undertaker stirred, roused a bit by the kiss. He instinctively drew Grell closer and nuzzled his hair. "Mmrning," he mumbled, rubbing the smaller reaper's back in a slow caress. He raised his head curiously and peered at the clock on the nightstand, trying to make out the numbers with his poor vision. His bangs fell over his eyes, further hindering his ability to read them. "Or is it afternoon?"

Giggling, Grell tried to turn over to look at the clock, but Undertaker's arms held him too tightly for him to wiggle free. "If you would let me go for just a moment, I could tell you."

Undertaker cuddled even closer and yawned. "I'd rather have you than the time, right now. We can go to the shop later." He kissed Grell's forehead and sighed, enjoying the way he fit against him.

"You better not be getting any ideas." The redhead scowled teasingly, poking the Undertaker in the chest. "I do not think my backside can handle anymore at the moment. I am rather sore from your previous affections."

Grell smiled as a tiny giggle fell from his lips. "Not that I am complaining, love. But I don't mind the cuddles and lounging in bed for a time. That is, if you are in no hurry to tend your shop."

"I think if I were to cry right now, only dust would come out," said Undertaker with a smirk. "You drained me dry last night, my dear."

He kissed him on the mouth and he gave him another little squeeze. "Cuddling is all I'm capable of, right now. We can stop at this nice pub I know 'round the corner from my shop and have something to eat before we get there. I'm just as happy to lie here for a bit longer, though."

"You do know if we are not careful, the day will pass us by and then there will be no reason to visit the shop." Grell pointed out, strumming his fingers up and down his lover's arm.

"Can I ask you something? I could really use a male's perspective. Do you prefer me in masculine clothing, or is women's clothing more appealing?" Grell asked sincerely. He was curious as to what the Undertaker made of his apparel last night. Not many reapers had ever seen him in ladies' fashions, since he tended to wear a suit for work as was the dress code for all reapers, male or female.

"I like you either way," answered the mortician with a shrug. "The view is always nice, whether you're wearing trousers or petticoats."

"I may not be normal... but I would like to be respected as if I was," The redhead whispered, running his fingers along a scar on Undertaker's chest.

"The mortals have no idea what I am," confided Grell. "They believe me to be a female. I never enter my house in my work clothes. I portal in, unless I have my cloak with me. They would be aghast to find me in men's clothing. They know me only as a woman."

He had never shared his ritual with any other being before. It was nice to share such a private matter. The Undertaker was a soothing salve to his lonely and wounded life. Khronos may have worn his battle wounds on the outside, but Grell wore them all on the inside. Because of that, nobody ever asked him about them.

The older reaper smiled at him. "You wear whatever you like, my dear. I'll think of you as my lady-love, either way. Pack dresses or suits—whichever you fancy. When you're in my home, it's your home." He kissed him tenderly, hoping this damaged creature trusted him enough to know that he was sincere. He was all too familiar with wearing masks, himself. A legend to the Shinigami and an old eccentric to the mortals, the Undertaker could identify with Grell's dilemma, even though his circumstances weren't the same.

Grell smiled back. He slipped his hand behind the mortician's neck, pulling him forward, so their lips could meet. The kiss was gentle, not heated. It held so much of the redhead's heart. The fact was that this reaper could be the man of his dreams. The thought ignited a new flame inside of him: hope.

Hope—that which he had nearly given up on after his stint in the psychiatric ward. There your dreams were dashed, stolen from you. All you were given was fear and darkness. Grell liked the way Undertaker made him feel. He was like a drug, a new freedom. He was love.

~xox~

After cleaning up and packing a few things for Grell, the couple left the apartment and hailed a carriage. Rather than stop at the pub as originally planned, Undertaker had the coachman take them directly to his shop so that they could get his lover's belongings situated first. After that, they took a stroll to the pub together and had lunch. Grell chose to wear a dress and Undertaker had no problem with that. He did his best to be a gentleman to him, out of practice as he was. He offered his arm as they walked, he opened doors for him and he pulled out the chair for him at the pub. In fact, he was a little embarrassed to be with him—not because of the gender ambiguity, but because Grell looked so fancy and lovely in his outfit for the day, with his hair pinned back elegantly. Undertaker was in his usual drab funeral director attire, as he only owned one decent suit and dozens of robes, tight pants and boots.

"My goodness," remarked the mortician as they sat down to order from the menu, "are you certain you want to be seen out with me, love? Don't get me wrong, I adore having a pretty thing like you on my arm, but people might wonder why such a fine lady is in the company of the mad old funeral director."

He'd removed his hat out of courtesy and put it on the rack by the door, but he felt woefully unkempt and dusty, compared to Grell. It was a casual pub and all, but he felt like he should have at least tied his hair back with a ribbon.

Grell reached across the table, his lace-clad hand taking the mortician's. "You are just fine, and any lady would be lucky to have you on her arm. Besides, if anyone says anything..." he shrugged, "I will just break out my scythe and give them a piece of my mind." Smiling, the redhead resumed scanning his menu.

He still held the Undertaker's hand when he asked, "Any recommendations?"

"Hmm." Undertaker looked over the menu, thinking about how everything he'd tried before tasted and attempting to match something to Grell's taste. "You may like the Welsh rarebit. It's toasted rye with butter, Dijon, cheddar and cream. I usually get the Shepard's pie, myself."

A serving girl came by and she smiled at Undertaker. "Afternoon, sir. Haven't seen you here for a spell!"

Undertaker smiled back. "Hullo, Mildred. I'll have a pint and my lady companion will have...warm cider?"

He looked at Grell questioningly, guessing he wasn't interested in anything alcoholic but unsure of what he might prefer to drink otherwise.

Nodding, Grell smiled. "Yes, that would be just fine."

They watched as the girl left to fetch their drinks, before Grell looked over at his lover and quirked a brow. "I take it you come here regularly?"

"When my schedule permits...or when I just want to be around the living, for a change." Undertaker winked at him.

Grell giggled. "I think I shall have the Shepard's pie as well. Sounds a bit lighter than the other. After last night... you would think I would be rather hungry, but sadly I am not. I think you spoiled my appetite with to much dessert." He winked back.

The older reaper brushed his foot playfully against Grell's under the table. The barmaid returned with their drinks a moment later, wearing a sunny smile on her freckled face. "Are you ready to order?"

"Indeed we are, dear." Undertaker took Grell's menu, stacked it with his and handed them both to the serving girl. "We'll both have the Shepard's pie, thanks."

She nodded and scribbled it down on her note pad. "Good choice. Want some biscuits while you wait?"

"Please," agreed the mortician with a nod. To Grell, he said: "They have the softest bread rolls here, always fresh. Quaint little place, but they treat folk like family."

"They sound delicious. I cannot wait to try them." Grell smiled back and he played with the mortician's hand as it rested on top of the table.

"So tell me love, what else keeps you entertained when you are not working on the dead?" Inquired the redhead as he ran is fingertips delicately over Undertaker's long black nails.

"I like limericks, Charley Chapman and reading over medical books," said the ancient. He took a sip from his drink before continuing. "I also enjoy partaking in astronomy now and then, though I've got to use my telescope on the roof to see the stars clearly."

Grell peeked up from his glass, slowly lowering it. "Star gazing? I would have never pictured you as such. I love the night sky."

Melancholy painted the redhead's face. He averted his gaze to the tabletop and whispered. "At least I use to, before..."

Undertaker squeezed his hand. "You don't have to look at them if you don't want to, but if you decide you want a peek, I'll be right there with you."

"Oh! I don't mind looking at them. I just don't enjoy them like I once did." Grell looked up blinking, almost startled by the kind offer. "I would not mind accompanying you to the roof if you would like to gaze at them." He blushed.

Charmed, Undertaker smiled at him. "Then let's do that tonight, after I get business sorted at my shop. I might not even open today, but I still have a clientele to maintain and I'll need to make some calls."

Grell took a sip of his drink, "Please don't on my account. I have kept you from your business long enough today. I don't mind grabbing a book and crawling onto your bed to read." He thought for a moment. "Actually, that sounds quite enjoyable. I can't remember when last I spent the day lost in a good book."

"I have quite a selection in my study," offered the mortician. "You might find something that's your cup o' tea in there, so feel free to browse through it when we get to the shop."

Smiling, Grell was about to reply when the serving girl re-emerged with a basket of biscuits in her hand. She smiled sweetly at the couple as she placed the basket on the table between them and a little dish of butter. She informed the two reapers that their meals would be up shortly. With a slight dip, she scurried off.

With wide eyes and a growling stomach, the redhead plucked a biscuit from under the napkin. With a flick of his wrist, he buttered the top of it and bit into hit. His eyes lit up, the butter melting on his tongue. He softly moaned with enjoyment.

Undertaker smirked around the bite he'd taken himself, and he swallowed. "You see? Best biscuits in London."

He almost teased Grell about the sensual noise he'd made when he bit into his, but knowing the redhead, he'd only provoke him into making more obvious sounds of delight that could draw more attention than they wanted. He enjoyed his roll quietly, his bright, concealed gaze taking in every expression of pleasure on Grell's face. The food came and the serving girl refilled their drinks before leaving again. Undertaker dug in with a healthy appetite, chatting about mundane things as he ate. Inwardly he was calculating how he would go about getting information on Grell's doctor that would lead to putting a stop to his practice, one way or the other. He kept a cheerful front for his lover's sake, hoping to keep him distracted from thinking about the things he'd endured at the man's hands.

~xox~

Having finished their delightful lunch. Grell took the Undertaker's proffered arm as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. It was a short walk, but for the first time in a long while, Grell just enjoyed the ambiance of the London atmosphere. It felt nice to be himself, dressed in a lovely walking dress, being escorted by a charming fellow. He would never have gotten such treatment from William. He hated seeing Grell in feminine clothing. He liked the men he took to bed to be men. And Sebastian—as handsome and proper as he was—he would never treat Grell as a lady, only as a nuisance. There were other reapers he had kept his eye on, but none could compare to the man by his side. With a bright, warm smile he glanced up at Khronos.

"Thank you for lunch. It was a splendid treat." The redhead squeezed the mortician's arm.

Undertaker returned his smile. "My pleasure, darlin'. I don't like to get out much, but I make exceptions for that pub. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Out of sheer instinct, he lifted Grell's hand in his and kissed the top of it. The resulting blush of pleasure from the smaller reaper was instantly gratifying, and he was again glad to have made the decision to court him. His happy mood evaporated as they rounded the block and he spotted a Dispatch agent standing outside his shop. He stopped Grell and urged him back around the corner with him, instantly on alert. He couldn't tell who it was from this distance with his poor eyesight, but he knew the uniform and the reaper aura well enough. All he'd seen of the agent was a glimpse of blond hair.

"One moment, love," whispered the Undertaker when Grell opened his mouth to question him. "Have a peek around the corner and see if you recognize the chap standing outside my door. Seems to be a young fellow, from what I could tell."

Grell did as he was requested. A smile painting his lips as his eyes fell on the young reaper. Picking up his skirts, he took off in a mad dash.

"Ronnie!" He hollered as he threw his arms around the stunned reaper, nearly plowing right over the top of him.

Undertaker watched with bemusement and a touch of discomfort as his lover hugged the young man in front of the shop. It had been a long time indeed since he'd felt the petty stirrings of jealousy. He hardly recognized it for what it was at first, and when he did, he felt acutely embarrassed. Grell wasn't trying to kiss his blond friend; his embrace was brotherly, if anything. The one called 'Ronnie' yelped in surprise before recognizing his affectionate assailant.

"Sutcliff Senpai! Wow, I forgot about your...er...other clothes." Ronald hugged him back and glanced at the shop door. "I was sent here to try and talk to the Undertaker, but now you're here and that's even better."

Ron tugged Grell closer to the shop door, glancing around covertly before whispering: "What the hell's going on with you and the Undertaker? Spears Senpai said he vouched for you? I mean, not that I think you did this one, but...uh...what's up with that?"

Hooking his arm with the youth's, Grell smiled. "I had an accident and he merely helped me. We were having dinner when that awful doctor showed up with Will."

Grell began to lead the blond down the street as they talked, heading in the direction of the Undertaker. "Ronnie, I have been horrible. He is much kinder and quite the gentleman. I should have played nice long ago rather than wasting my cookies on William. But back to your question." The redhead waved his free hand, dismissing the direction the conversation had turned.

"I had invited the Undertaker to my house for dinner last night, after having spent the night here, in his shop. See, my clothes had to dry over night." The redhead giggled, then resumed, his face growing somber. "From what I gathered the poor chit was murdered while we slept, because yesterday morning she was delivered to the Undertaker."

Grell stopped and faced the blond. "Ronnie, I saw her body. I was frightened, and I knew they would come for me." Fear was in his eyes, the afternoon sun causing them to flicker.

Ronald scowled. "I knew they were coming for ya, and Spears Senpai told me to stay out of it when I said I'd go to your flat to talk to you about it first. I don't like that doctor one...hey, what's he doing?"

Ronald pointed at the corner of a building, where the Undertaker's head swiftly vanished. The ancient managed to drop his hat in the process of yanking his face back behind the corner, and a long-nailed hand swiftly appeared to snatch it back.

"Hmm?" Grell hummed as he glanced at the corner, where Ronald had pointed, just in time to see the hat disappear. "Being creepy as usual, dear. Now you say you tried to intervene? How did you come upon such a conversation... to try and take such action?" Inquired Grell, waving off the crazy Undertaker.

Ronald stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Well yeah. The last few times they dragged you in, they didn't find any proof you had anything to do with it." A breeze blew his bangs over his eyes, and he brushed them aside absently. "I told the boss it didn't make any sense to keep dragging you in when they had no proof, but he insisted on protocol. I think he's uncomfortable with it all too, if you ask me. That's why he sent me to check on the Undertaker and see if you were here. I guess maybe he thought you'd talk to me more freely."

~xox~

Undertaker listened to it all from a distance, not as familiar with the young reaper as his lover was. His natural inclination was to question his presence and motives, but the way Grell had plowed out to meet him had him reconsidering the defensive plans forming in his mind. He relinquished the idea of drawing his scythe, but he wasn't sure how to approach now. Grell obviously trusted this young man, and so far Knox hadn't given any indication of threatening him.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, the mortician absently turned his hat around in his hands by the brim. The pair was steadily walking toward him.

"My, this is awkward," muttered the Undertaker.

He began to grin—his usual response to uncomfortable situations. When they drew near, he manifested before them and loomed over Knox, smiling wildly at him. "Hullo, agent."

Despite having known he was in the general area, Ronald yelped and jumped back a step. "Holy tap-dancing shit! Could ya _not_ do that?"

"Hmm, tap-dancing shit," pondered the Undertaker, tapping his long black nails against his grinning teeth. He shrugged. "Can't say as I've ever seen shit do that before. Shall we?"

He gestured toward his shop, producing his key from his garments.

"Would you knock that off?" Scolded Grell. "You are scaring him and I don't need him high tailing it out of here just yet."

Grell turned his attention back to the blond. "Now dear, what else do you know? Did you overhear anything else about that bloody old creep of a doctor? Perhaps anything about the mysterious death of that young girl?"

Ronald walked inside the shop with Grell and the Undertaker, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, the old creep of a doctor keeps pushing to bring you back in for observation and treatment. We all read over the Undertaker's autopsy report and both Alan and I keep telling everyone it doesn't fit you. We were all there for the Ripper phase you went through, and we all saw what you did to those girls. Blood lust or not, you were methodical. This was a hack job."

Undertaker nodded. "Mm-hmm. My thoughts exactly. Good eye, Mr. Knox."

Ronald shrugged, casting the older reaper a faintly wary look before returning his gaze to Grell. "Something stinks about this whole thing, Senpai. I don't like that Dr. Wundt, and I told Senpai Spears so. He's got his own angle, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is. Did you piss him off or something?"

Grell let go of the blond's arm, his gaze fixed on the floor as he turned from his friend, shaking his head. Slowly, his eyes wandered over to the Undertaker, his gaze pleading the older reaper for strength as sadness etched across his expression.

"No." Grell quietly replied. Wringing his hands, he straightened his back. Keeping his eyes locked with the mortician's, his voice grew more confident. "No, I did not piss him off. I believe Doctor Wundt has taken a liking to me and refuses to accept that I want nothing to do with him."

Undertaker frowned and nodded in agreement, and Ronald looked between the two of them curiously. He searched Grell's face and his eyes narrowed. "So he's stalking you? That sonofabitch...I'm going to go—"

"You'll do nothing," Undertaker said, reaching out to grab Ronald's arm before he could take a step toward the door. "In fact, I'd recommend you don't say anything about what your mentor just told you; not yet. If you want to help, you can act as our eyes and ears in Dispatch and tell us if you hear anything about or from that blustering shit pile that might lead to a case against him."

Undertaker looked at Grell, his expression softening. "That is, if my lady finds that idea logically sound. I don't know you as well as Grell does, so the decision is his."

Grell looked over his shoulder, his body slowly following. "I suppose that would be a good idea. And stalking is a kinder way of stating it, but yes you could also say that." He reached out and touched the blond's cheek. "Don't be rash or stupid... Mustard Seed. I am fine and Undertaker here..." He nodded in the direction of the retired reaper. "He knows and is watching over me. I will be okay. I have endured all these years on my own and now I have help. And you are going to help me as well... aren't you... love?"

Ronald shot the Undertaker an embarrassed look over the affectionate nickname, and then he nodded. "Well, yeah. Of...of _course_ I'm gonna help! Especially if he...if he...dammit..."

The young Dispatch agent looked away and compressed his lips for a moment. "I'll help," he finally said, after composing himself. He looked at Grell again. "I'll just tell them I found you hanging out with the Undertaker. It's the truth, after all. Ya gave me the same alibi they got from you, and I'll say so. I just...wish you'd say something to Spears Senpai, but I kind of understand why ya don't want to."

"Thank you, Ronnie." The redhead smiled. "But just so you know, I did try talking to that arse once. He just didn't want to listen. I can't say I blame him, after the stunt I pulled back then." Grell looked down at his feet, twisting his body. "I messed up and... and..."

Grell wanted to say more. He wanted to tell the young blond more, but his chest began to ache. The memories of Will dismissing and telling him he was over exaggerating about the doctor's behaviour came back in a rush of raw pain.

_"Grell, that is preposterous. Just because you had to be put away and under go treatment for your crimes does not mean you can complain and make up stories about high ranking reapers, whom are well thought of and revered for their work. Doctor Wundt has been nothing but generous in taking your case and seeing to your well being. He has kept me informed on your progress over the months."_

Will had stood yelling and scolding the redhead, until he had grown weary and exhausted. Grell had tried to speak once more only to be silenced by Will's quick dismissal, a wave of his hand and the harsh sentence, telling him to leave his office. Grell could still feel the chill December air on his face as he had rushed from the Dispatch building in tears. Sheets of piercing cold rain fell, drenching him. He had ran as fast as he could through the streets of London, to his home in Berkley Square.

He had thought he could turn to the Dispatch Manager for help, that Will was a friend. The betrayal from his disloyalty to the Dispatch was evident that day. His shenanigans had pushed the one person he loved far out of his grasp and ruined not only their work relationship, but their friendship as well.

The redhead jumped as a hand touched him on the arm, jerking him from his reverie.

The light touch had come from his lover. "Why don't we have some tea?" suggested the Undertaker in a gentle voice, reserved for those he truly cared about.

Ronald stared in surprise at the kind, dulcet tone. Gone was the scratchy, creepy voice he was used to hearing from the mortician. Hearing the tone he used with his mentor and seeing the protective expression on what could be seen of his pale features beneath the shag of long, silver bangs, he had his confirmation that Grell wasn't exaggerating their new found relationship.

"Thanks, but I've got to get back to Dispatch and check in," sighed the blond. "Otherwise they might send someone looking for me, wondering if I got in trouble or started slacking on the job. Senpai, we'll fix this somehow. We'll expose this quack for what he is and Spears Senpai will _have_ to open his eyes. I've got a party to go to after work, and I'll see if I can dig anything up there. People talk when they're buzzing."

"Liquor tends to loosen tongues, yes," agreed Undertaker with a grin. "Just watch who you ask and how you do it, 'Mustard Seed'. You won't do your mentor any good if they put you away for slipping your leash and conspiring against the authorities."

Ronald sighed. "Great. I'm so _happy_ that nickname is catching on." He looked at Grell again and he did the "death" salute. "You can count on me. Just hang in there, Senpai!"

Grell slipped his arms around the blond's neck. Embracing him close, the redhead whispered into his ear. "Thank you, Ronnie. Please be careful. And have a good time tonight. I love you." Grell kissed him on the cheek, before squeezing him tighter.

Ronald looked at the Undertaker, who was now frowning a bit. "Uh, sure! Back at ya." He patted his mentor's back and stepped away, uncertain of how the ancient would react to such a declaration of affection. "I'd better get going. See ya!"

Undertaker watched the young reaper hurry out of his shop, and it occurred to him that the nasty feeling he was now suffering was full-blown jealousy, after all. He'd never been the jealous type before. He suddenly started to laugh at himself, amused. "My, my...you do bring out the worst in me at times, my dear," he said to Grell between chuckles.

Turning his head, Grell frowned at the wacky mortician. With hands on hips, the redhead asked; "And just what do you mean by that... you... you old _Coot_?"

The sound of Grell's leather boot echoed throughout the dismal shop as he tapped his foot on the hardwood floor, bemused he awaited the mortician's answer.

His prissy stance only made the Undertaker laugh harder. "Oh, my sides...you are frankly adorable when you get uppity, darlin'."

He composed himself with difficulty, grinning widely at the impatient redhead as he considered how to explain. "A moment ago when you hugged your 'Mustard Seed' and declared your love for him...well, ol' Khronos fell victim to a fit of jealousy."

Undertaker sighed, and he took his hat off to play absently with the brim, bowing his shaggy head. "It's been a while. I hardly recognized the emotion for what it was. Forgot I could even _feel_ it."

Grell's hard lines changed from bemused to amused as the realization dawned on what the mortician was saying. Now, it was his turn to have a good laugh. Wrapping his arms around his mid-section, Grell was over come with a fit of giggles and a few snorts here and there.

"Are you saying you are jealous of Ronnie? Oh, my, I think I need to sit on that one." Carefully, he sat down on one the beautiful coffins, laid out on display and looked up at his lover. "For Heaven's sake, you fool. Ronnie is my adopted brother. I took him in when he was first assigned to the Dispatch. He isn't like you and I. Becoming a reaper has been hard on him."

Grell patted the coffin. "Come here and sit next to me," the redhead commanded.

The ancient obediently took a seat beside him, feeling so much the fool but amused with himself for his foolishness, all the same. "I know, I'm being a daft old codger," he sighed before Grell could even begin to chastise him further. "And I already guessed there was no romantic connection, seeing as he keeps referring to you as his mentor. It was just...seeing you in another man's embrace...I suppose there was no room for logic to work, there."

He dropped his hat on the coffin and shook his bangs out of his eyes to give his lover a sheepish, sidelong glance. "Forgive me, love?"

"What is there to forgive? I think it is adorable. I've never had someone... No. I take that back... I have." Grell changed his mind.

He was going to state that no one had ever appeared jealous over him before, but the look on Wundt's face came back to him. The Doctor had the look of jealousy on his face, when he realized Grell was not home alone the night before. A tiny shiver wiggled its way up the crimson reaper's spine.

Guessing where his sentence must have been heading, Undertaker put an arm around him and drew him closer. "You've never had anyone who genuinely cares for you get jealous, I take it. You needn't worry, though. I've got no plans to eviscerate your little friend. Can't say the good 'doctor' doesn't hold such plans for me though...but then, I'd like to see him try."

He slid a long-nailed hand gently under Grell's chin and guided his head back, so that he could look him directly in the eyes. "I won't let him hurt you."

With furrowed brows, Grell softly spoke. A hint of regret tinted his words. "I am afraid you are too late in preventing that. But I believe you could keep him from doing it again or die trying…though I am not to fond of the latter part of the sentence."

Undertaker grinned, a not-so-sane smile that reminded one he wasn't quite right in the head. "I'm not afraid of death, my dear. I _am_ death...or I was, at any rate. The only thing that scares me now is the thought of that blighter getting his hands on you again."

"I don't want his hands on me again either... So now what do we do?" The redhead changed the subject, jumping to his feet. With a swoosh of his skirts, he turned around to look down at Khronos. "It is far to early for star-gazing." He giggled.

Undertaker could think of a dozen other things he would like to do with Grell. He stood up as well and he put his arms around him, hardly fazed by the abrupt change of subject. "I should probably open the shop and take care of the day's business, now," he murmured, "but I think I'd rather put it off until tomorrow."

He stroked a hand down Grell's back. "Do you think you've got everything you need for your stay? I'll help you get sorted out in the bedroom, if you like."

Grell stood with his arms crossed over his chest. One brow raised as he took in the look on the Undertaker's face. "Why do I have the feeling your idea of, 'sorting me out', involves me naked in your bed?"

The ancient gave him a lecherous grin. "And what's wrong with that?" He put the suitcase down and he reached out to capture a lock of Grell's crimson hair, bringing it to his smiling lips. He kissed it, stroking it softly over his lips before leaning in to nuzzle the smaller reaper's cheek.

"I only want to please my lady love," he whispered huskily. He ran his nails softly over Grell's shoulder, while planting gentle kisses on his cheek and ear. "But if the lady isn't receptive..."

He pulled away slowly and spread his hands. "I suppose I could get to work in the basement."

Wagging his finger at the mortician, Grell spat back. "Now I never said I had a problem with it. Only that It would not surprise me. I... well... after last night."

Getting flustered, the redhead began to blush deeply. Never once had he dreamt of ever coming across such a man with an appetite to match his own.

"I believe you were at least half responsible for last night," chuckled the mortician. "I've got my second wind back, though, and I'm quite ready for a repeat performance."

Without warning, he scooped Grell up bride-style into his arms and he began to carry him toward the curtain leading to the private living area in the back. "Of course, if my lady really wants me to put her down, I will," he assured the sputtering redhead with a wink. At his mental command, the bolt lock on the front door of his shop slid shut to ensure nobody would come calling while he was busy a-courting.

"If you had planned on us not leaving bed, then why did we leave my boudoir this morning?" The redhead asked haughty, clinging to the mad-man. His libido stirred in anticipation.

Undertaker kissed him deeply, until he reached the curtain and had to stop to push it aside with a booted foot. "Because I wanted you out of there, my love." He carried him through the threshold and brought the sconces to life with a mental nudge. "After that encounter with your 'associates', I thought it best to put my selfish lust in a box and take care of keeping you safe, first. Call me a doting, overprotective idiot, but I needed you to be _here_ before I allowed myself the distraction of making love to you again."

He pressed his nose affectionately against Grell's. "But I'll remind you I'm no caveman, my dear. Say the word and I'll stop."

Grell stared wide-eyed at the mortician. "Do you think I am crazy? Why under Heaven would I pass up a chance to be naked in your arms? Though at the rate we are going at it... we shall never accomplish another thing in this world."

~xox~

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **_So sorry loves, I completely forgot to upload chapter five of this the last time I updated, and I accidentally posted chapter 6 where chapter 5 should have been. Whoopsy!_

_~xox~_

Grell plastered a kiss to the retired reaper's cheek as they entered the Undertaker's inner sanctum. His big, beautiful, pink canopied bed lay before them. He wanted to hold his companion's naked body as they made love once again upon it. Grell giggled at the memory of their misunderstanding over the colour of it.

"What are you giggling about, cheeky thing?" Undertaker was smiling as he lowered Grell onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He immediately began pressing kisses against his throat, and he retracted his fingernails as he started to deftly unfasten the dress.

Shaking his head, Grell dismissed the comment and the thought. He locked his eyes onto the Undertaker's face, watching as he undressed him. "Rough and hard?"

Undertaker worked free the lacings on Grell's dress, his mouth moving more insistently against the fair skin. "If that's what you want, darlin', I'm more than happy to give it to you."

Grell pushed the Undertaker back, so he could look at him. "Last night… we… well what I am trying to say is… is there something you would like to do to me? Kinds of games or fantasies? I-I would let you do whatever you wish to me." The redhead inquired as he searched the mortician's eyes.

His declaration gave the older reaper pause, and he looked into his eyes searchingly. He propped himself up on one arm and he gently removed the glasses from Grell's face, putting them safely on the bedside table. That he would trust him enough to give him such consent, after what he'd been through, was further confirmation that there was something special growing between them…besides his crotch.

He caressed Grell's face and stared down at him somberly, excited but worried he might take it too far. "There are so many things I'd love to do with you, my dear, but I don't want to go out of your comfort zone. We've had some rough sex already—even bloody—but I allowed you to set the pace with that. Is there a…word or phrase you'd like to use that will signal me to stop, if you feel unsafe?"

Blinking, Grell looked at the mortician in confusion. "I don't quite understand. I am offering myself to you. If I asked you to stop at any time that would be like taking a gift back, once given." He shook his head. "Do whatever brings you pleasure. I promise, I can handle whatever you do to me."

The mortician ached with need at those words, and he sighed. Well then, if Grell wanted him to loose the beast on him, that was what he'd get. He'd tried to be considerate about it to ensure the consent was ongoing, but he supposed he'd just have to rely on his instincts to detect if Grell really wanted him to stop at any point.

He got up from the bed then, leaving his companion lying there with that puzzled look painted on his fair features. "Be right back, lovely," he promised. "Don't move."

Expecting his order to be obeyed, Undertaker left the bedroom and went into the basement. He walked over to the supply closet and he got out his key ring to unlock it. The door creaked on its hinges—having not been opened for some time. Within the closet were instruments of restraint and torture that he generally only used when interrogating someone for information. There was much more to his role as the Phantomhive informant than most people would guess…but he hadn't found a need to resort to that sort of thing since Ciel took on the family legacy. His pet demon made Undertaker's job quite cushy.

Of course, some of those items could be used for pleasure, as easily as pain. He ignored the deadly array of hooks, vices, hammers and pokers and he went straight for the iron restraints. Thinking of Grell's delicate skin, he grabbed some padding—a thing he only used rarely, when he got the chance to play with the more sensual purposes his collection could be used for. Draping the irons and their chains over one arm, he tucked the padding beneath the other and he headed back up the stairs and into the bedroom.

He stood at the doorway with the items, allowing his lover to see them for himself before falling into his role and actually using them. He gave it a moment to sink in, watching Grell with a steady gaze and a slight, sadistic little smile.

Grell swallowed, hiding his apprehension. He trusted the Undertaker didn't he? Of course he did. "Am I to be your prisoner this evening?" The redhead asked as he took in the sight of the old irons. Pushing himself up onto his knees, Grell held onto the bed post for support. "What is my crime? I demand to know."

"The crime," said the older reaper, "is in being entirely too desirable for your own good, Madame Sutcliff."

He approached the bed, his smirk losing some of its menace as his playful side surfaced again. "You've made Death jealous, and randy. The punishment is to suffer a brutal tongue lashing, followed by tickles and finally, a good and proper fucking."

Somehow, he managed to say all of this with a relatively straight face…but it was hard. He intended to show the redhead his more aggressive side in full, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to be as verbally menacing with Grell as he originally intended.

Tilting his head, Grell's eyes looked over the kooky mortician. "I am giving you the chance to be ruthless, chain me or what ever else you like. Even beat me if that is your wish and you want to be funny?" With a huff, Grell climbed from the bed.

He walked up to Khronos and poked him in the chest. "If you want to fuck me… fuck me. If you want to make jokes… I shall be in the… the bath."

"Oh, no you don't," announced the Undertaker as his companion tried to walk past him.

Damnably ticklish funny bone or not, he wasn't going to allow this opportunity to pass him up. He reached out and caught Grell around the waist, and he hefted him over his shoulder with a grunt. He'd dropped the padding in the process, but he could retrieve it after he had him secured. He started to carry him to the bed, but he thought that was a bit too cliché for his purposes. He turned around instead and started to carry him through his living quarters and to the stairs leading down to his basement.

He shifted him to a more secure position as Grell gave a good show of a struggle—or perhaps it was real. He was sure the redhead could break his hold if he really wanted to, so he kept going. He gave him a firm smack on the bottom when his elbow dug into his back, and he spoke in a tone he hadn't used since his mentoring days.

"Shut it and stop your thrashing, if you know what's good for you."

Grell froze at the sound of the Undertaker's tone. A genuine shiver ran up his spine. "Khronos? Why are you taking me to the basement?"

The redhead stared at the ground as he lay slumped over his lover's shoulder. The light from upstairs slowly fading behind them as darkness cloaked them with each step down the old staircase. Grell tried to turn to see ahead of them, but in the position he had been placed, he could not. He was truly at the mortician's mercy now. Undertaker was an ancient, he had abilities that young reapers like himself might never develop. He might be able to best him in a scythe verse scythe match, but Khronos could do things that Grell could only dream of. He had no choice but to trust him…trust that Khronos had genuine feelings for him and was not using him purely for sex.

"I'm taking you to do what I please with you," answered the ancient, his voice carrying the chill of the grave. "Isn't this what you wanted, pet?"

He carried him over to the examination table, and he bent over a bit to roughly drop him onto it. He dropped the restraints in the process, but no matter. He didn't need them, now. The table had its own restraints built into it—not as strong as the manacles he'd selected, but enough to hold Grell still until he could apply them. He forced the redhead down onto his back and he held his wrists down on either side of him, mentally commanding the clamps to snap shut over them.

"There," he purred. "That's better. Now for the feet."

Grell's struggles were definitely increasing, but the mortician was at a point beyond caring. He grabbed one of the redhead's ankles in an iron grip and shoved it down. Once the clamp fastened over it, he did the same with the other. Satisfied that his "prisoner" was secured for now, he whistled a macabre little tune as he retrieved the irons he'd dropped.

"Now, don't be fussy," he warned, glancing sidelong at the straining redhead as he opened the first set and checked the links. "I'll pad these up nicely so they don't chafe that pretty skin of yours, my dear. It wouldn't do for them to leave marks on you that I intend to inflict, myself."

Taking a deep breath, Grell tried to calm his nerves. The table was cold against his back. The dress he was wearing was a simple walking dress, with not much protection from the slab he was forced to lay upon. He could do this for his lover. Khronos was not Wundt. He would not hurt him to be mean. He would not use his body. Still, doubt fluttered to his mind and he wondered if he should not have suggested such things, but this was part of love, wasn't it? Wundt always said only sick reapers fought against such fantasies. Normal ones indulged their partners.

Grell swallowed, his brows furrowing as he asked, "Khronos, I know I have been bad, but what is it you intend to do with me?"

"I intend to make a point," said the mortician lightly.

He wrapped the padding around the inside of the manacles, tying it in place with some suturing line. He cast a flashing glance Grell's way, and he smiled at him, the thick, white lashes veiling his eyes as they became heavy-lidded. It was a look that could either be interpreted as sensual or devious, depending on his mood. He walked over to the table and pulled his hair over one shoulder as he released Grell's wrists one at a time, only to secure the irons over them.

"I'm going to remind you of your promise to me, the first time we lay together." He forced Grell's wrists up over his head, and he pulled the chains taut and clamped them to a rung in the floor, leaving no give for him to move his arms from that vulnerable position. "You're mine, Grell Sutcliff. After tonight, there won't be any doubt of that."

Seeing a shadow of true anxiety in the redhead's gaze, Undertaker winked at him; a quick, silent reassurance that no true harm would come to him. Scaring people was generally one of his favorite hobbies, but he still wanted Grell to know he was safe. He moved on to secure his stocking-clad ankles, hoping his lover had caught the subtle message.

A tremor surged through the redhead's body. Someone else had said that to him once. Grell closed his eyes. An image of Wundt appeared before him. He was kneeling along side Grell's naked body, his breath feathering over the redhead's sensitive ear.

_"You are mine Sutcliff. Tonight, tomorrow, always."_

Gradually, Grell opened his eyes. "How are you going to remind me of that promise, Khronos?"

The mortician glanced at him, and he didn't answer. Instead, he ran his hands over Grell's legs, letting them slide up the long, lean muscles, pushing up underneath the hem of his dress. He lowered his mouth to the right leg as he exposed it to the thigh, and he kissed the bare flesh above the line of the stocking. He planted another kiss above that, and another after that. Grell really didn't allow him to play the way he'd like, very often. The redhead tended to run hot and cold; one moment telling him to do as he wished, and the next demanding something else.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, Undertaker would have his way, and he'd take his blessed time with it. He ran his nails over the sensitive, vulnerable skin of the inside of Grell's other thigh as he took his time kissing and nuzzling the right one.

Grell pulled at the binds above his head, something felt wrong. He began to panic inside, with second thoughts. He closed his eyes once more as tears formed behind his lids.

_"Sutcliff, you are a lovely creature. Your skin is like cream."_

The words were rolling across his memory. He was in the mental ward, curled up in a ball. The feel of finger tips gliding up his leg, starting at the ankle.

_"Your hair is silky and you smell… like fresh strawberries."_

Shivers racked the redhead as the fingertips brushed the insides of his thighs.

_"_ _Don't fight it Erdbeere. I will not hurt you."_

Undertaker heard something that didn't sound remotely like a noise of arousal. It was choked, like a sob caught in the throat. He looked up the length of his "captive's" body to see the glistening path of a tear as it etched its way down Grell's temple, visible as the redhead turned his head to the side. The mortician stopped what he was doing, unsure of how his gentle touch could have evoked such a distressed moment, but wholly uninterested in dragging it out.

"Grell," he called, walking over to the head of the table. He reached out to wipe the tears from his lover's face, and he shook his head. "Enough of this game, I think."

Undertaker reached for his keys and began to unlock the chains binding his lover to the examination table. Fun was fun, but this? He'd made the lowest of scum scream and cry for mercy on more than one occasion, but never his lovers…until Grell.

"I don't get my jollies from making a lady cry." He opened the wrist restraints first, and he slipped his hands beneath Grell's back to help him into a sitting position. "Here now, it's all right."

"What are you doing?" Grell asked confused as he sat up and stared at the Undertaker. "Why did you release me? I gave you permission to do as you please. Isn't this what you want? Did I do something wrong?" He searched his lover's eyes. "I don't understand."

Despite the fear he felt inside, Grell could not help but feel as if he had displeased his lover, let him down. He choked on another sob as he tried to read the expression on the retired reaper's face.

"This isn't what I wanted," clarified the Undertaker. He released Grell's ankles from their restraints. He scooped Grell up into his arms, struggling to explain. "I like to play, little rose, but not to the point where it causes real torment to someone I genuinely care about. I think…I've a better idea."

He kissed him on the tip of the nose, and he began to carry him to the stairs. "One that can satisfy my desires, without causing you undue discomfort. I may seem a sick old bastard in many ways, but I can't enjoy your tears."

"Put me down!" Grell struggled until he was set on his feet. "No. I saw how hungry that made you. I… If you… I can do that for you. I don't want to deny you your pleasure. That would be selfish of me. Ignore me. Take me. Do as you like." In a stentorian voice he pushed at the Undertaker's chest. "It doesn't matter if I was uncomfortable. You are suppose to be able to do what you want with me. That is what a lover is allowed."

"Even if he can't enjoy it when he's doing it?" countered the mortician with a growl. "I told you the day my paint fell on you and left you in a sodden heap: I don't like tears."

He grabbed the smaller reaper by the shoulders without warning and pushed him against the wall, his eyes blazing behind the veil of his bangs. "Do you want to be hurt, Sutcliff? Is that what you need? Yes…yes, it excites me to think of restraining you, of having my bloody way with you until we're both a ruined pile of sweat, spunk and drivel…but it's not _fun_ for me if I know my touch is making you think of things that _he_ did to you!"

Undertaker let him go, startled once more by the passion of his own responses. Grell just knew how to push his buttons, how to provoke every protective, loving, jealous, angry emotion in him that he would normally keep well-hidden behind a toothy grin and a scratchy voce. He un-ceremoniously kicked a nearby bucket—ordinarily used for catching body fluids when embalming the dead—and it clattered against the far wall of the basement.

Shaking his head, the mortician slumped, and he combed his fingers through his disheveled white hair. "What I want to do to you is for mutual pleasure and fun," he said in a rough, low voice. "And I already have enough fun at the expense of others. I want someone to do it with me…and I can tell an act from sincere dread, my dear."

Stunned, Grell stared after the mortician. "I… I thought you wanted…" Slowly he walked up to Khronos and knelt down before him, resting his hands on the retired reaper's knees. Softly he spoke, "But if it gives you pleasure to…" he motioned towards the table. "Why should it matter what I think or feel? I don't want to deny you anything."

The ancient looked down at him and sighed, stroking his bright hair softly. He knelt before him and looked him in the eye. "It matters because I can't take any pleasure in your pain, love. If this was just a casual, one-off encounter, I wouldn't care so much. Honestly, I've only ever indulged myself that way with people I don't give two shits about, except for a quick shag."

He looked away, his gaze straying to the forgotten restraints now lying on the floor of the basement. "I'd like to let myself go with you, but only if you can endure it."

"Khronos, I want you to enjoy yourself. I've endured a lot. I can't say I enjoy it, per se. It's just, isn't this how it's suppose to be? Aren't you suppose to take what you want from me? My feelings are not suppose to matter." Grell quivered as he leaned into the mortician's touch.

The Undertaker looked at him again, measuring him. Yes, Grell had been through a lot; and he'd proved himself quite the lunatic in a fight. Perhaps he _could_ take it. Maybe Khronos was just being wrong-headed about it, looking at his tears the wrong way. Could it, perhaps, be therapeutic for Grell to offer himself this way? To freely give to him what Wundt had so blatantly taken by force?

Having never been a victim of such a violation before himself, the ancient could only theorize. Grell had only shared a pittance of what happened between them with him, and Khronos believed he would one day share more if he felt safe enough to. He battled with himself, his body reacting with lust at the thought of going through with the things he'd originally planned. If he knew that those tears weren't going to leave Grell scarred…knew that he would accept his comfort when it was finished, then perhaps…

"This is why I suggested safe word," he explained softly. "Some sign to let me know if it truly becomes too much for you. I could go on despite your tears, if I know you've got a coffin bell to ring in case of emergency."

Shaking his head, Grell softly spoke. "I wouldn't use it. I am not weak. Why do you refuse my… my gift? If I cry. If I scream. If I struggle. If I say no, just ignore it. Those are just reactions."

Undertaker stared at him. ""_Just reactions'_," he pondered. "Hmm. Are those his words or yours, love?"

He sighed and shook his head, getting to his feet. "You want me to victimize you, but that's not how a relationship works. I won't be your abuser, Grell…not even if you ask it of me. I…care…to much to play that role with you, now. Had you offered this to me a month ago, perhaps I'd have taken you up on it. Now it's far too personal. I won't hurt you just so you can fit back into the role he designed for you and you've apparently accepted."

He turned away, letting his silver hair fall back down over his eyes as he bowed his head. "I've done enough harm to the few souls I've loved in this world. Asking me to torment you with no reprieve or comfort…to ignore your tears without knowing when it's too much…I refuse."

Grell rose and walked up to Khronos. Timidly he reached out and touched his arm. "But I… I don't understand. Isn't it your desire to do what you want with me? T-to pleasure yourself? You've allowed me pleasure. Why…isn't that what men want? To dominate? To control? To take regardless? I know you are not callous. It's the least I can do, after all you have done for me."

Stepping in front of the Undertaker, Grell uttered a command. "Khronos, look at me."

When the mortician looked up, the redhead backed away a few steps, Grell reached behind himself and undid the last of the laces on his dress. Loosened, he slipped the sleeves from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, pooling around his feet. The table was just behind him. He could feel the cold slab as he touched it with his hands, leaning back against it. Grell stood wearing a red corset and matching silk pantaloons. Red stockings to his thighs, held up with black garters.

Undertaker stared at the spectacle, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He was thankful that his bangs had covered most of his eyes again, partially concealing the lust in them. The sight of his lover in that ensemble made him spring a happy for certain, but he considered the words Grell had just said to him, and he compressed his lips.

_~He doesn't know how to be loved. It's all just…pain and submission to him; like he feels he owes me something for the pleasures I've given.~_

He longed to run his hands over the long, lean-muscled thighs and legs, to push Grell back onto that table, restrain him and take that set of garments apart with his teeth…but his mind kept repeating the redhead's choice of words. To dominate…to control…most especially, to take regardless. Undertaker did enjoy being the dominant partner in bed, but he was no rapist, and the desperation in Grell's haunted eyes told him that was what he thought he needed from him.

"Grell…" His voice cracked and he tried again, subtly hunching over to try and hide how very aroused his body was. It was only flesh. The younger reaper's reasons for doing this was like a cold splash of water to his mental arousal, and any coupling they did now would be meaningless and shallow. "I can't speak for other men, but what I want in the one I've chosen to be with is a sharing of pleasure…give and take. Not just me taking and the other lying there crying and enduring it. Even if I'm holding you down or binding you, I need to know you really want it, love…not just for me, but for yourself, too."

Turning away, Grell looked at the slab. "I want to give you… what you desire most. You want to bind me. I can see it in your eyes. I am sure your fantasies run dark. Mine did once as well." He confessed, before spinning back around. "I want you to make me your victim."

Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest adamantly. "What _I_ desire most, or what you do? I've told you what I want, darlin'. I've already had plenty of victims. I want a companion now, and we didn't begin this relationship on the premise of me torturing you for giggles. If you really want to enjoy a bit of roughness and chains with me, you'll have to give me a safe word."

He bent over and retrieved the discarded dress, holding it up for display. "If you can't agree to that, you can put this back on and stuff the entire idea."

"Fine." Grell grabbed the dress from his lover's hands and tossed it over his shoulders. "You want me to have a safe word. I will take one, but under one condition."

Poking the mortician in the chest, with his eyes narrowed, Grell laid down his condition. "You can't hold back. I give you permission to be as dark as you like and if I get to afraid or I can't handle it I will say… I will say… Wundt." He looked up. His finger stopped moving. "I can't guarantee I won't tear up. That is a normal reaction, but if you start to go to far and make me think of him. I will say his name. I promise."

The mortician considered the compromise, relaxing a bit. Truth be told, though his body was still aroused, his passion had cooled. The mood for play was gone for now, and he wondered how Grell would react to that. He watched the smaller reaper quietly for a moment, admiring the sight of him in that ensemble even though he had no interest in finishing what he'd started, tonight. He felt like he'd just been through a battle. Trying to make Grell understand why a safe word was so important to him had been a daunting task, indeed.

Undertaker reached out to touch the pale splendor of Sutcliff's face, tracing his lovely, effeminate features gently with his fingernails. "I can't tell you how much that puts my mind at east, darlin'. Unfortunately, you've worn old Khronos out with this arguing."

He smiled at him, bracing for an outburst. "Not that you aren't a sight to tempt _any_ man, but I think I'd rather cuddle you right now than chain you up."

Feeling defeated and confused, Grell nodded. " I see."

No screams nor shouts came from the redhead, instead he quietly walked around the table and picked up his dress. Draping it over his arm, he stopped in front of the mortician. "I should let you get some work done. I can't say I fully understand you… but I think I shall lie down for a bit. I don't feel so well at the moment. If you need me…" He looked towards the stairs, letting his sentence fade away.

Undertaker stopped him. "Now hold on a moment," he insisted. "I didn't say I don't want to be near you. I've just lost the drive to continue what we were doing before."

He put his arms around him and pulled him close. "I don't need to play that game with you tonight to enjoy you, love. You said you wanted me to do with you as I wish; and right now, I just want to do this."

He lowered his mouth to Grell's and kissed him softly, having faith that he wouldn't decide to bite him with those sharp teeth of his. It was a gesture of trust as much as affection, with the redhead in such a volatile mood.

Grell's eyelids fluttered, before closing. His dress slid from his arm as he melted into the mortician's warm embrace. Slowly he snaked his arms around the Undertaker's neck. Tipping his head to the side, his lips gradually parted. "Mmm…" he moaned contently.

Sensing that he might be forgiven for refusing the gift Grell had tried to give to him, Undertaker put his arms around him and deepened the kiss. They could play the game another time, when he'd had the chance to mentally fortify himself against the tears he knew he was going to cause. It was still too fresh; this knowledge that some quack had abused his lover right under Dispatch's collective noses, and nobody except him and Ronald was willing to do anything about it. Had he been ignorant of Wundt's actions, he might have thought the crimson reaper was only playing a role for him and he mightn't have gotten rattled, but…

"I'm sorry, love," murmured Khronos between kisses, feeling compelled to offer one last apology and reassurance. His confidence was returning, now that he'd negotiated a safe word for his lover to use. "I'll gladly accept your gift when I'm not so feather-headed over it. For now, though…"

Ignoring the discarded dress, he swept Grell up off his feet. "A bit of pampering is in order, I think."

He also had a mind to appreciate that delightful number Grell was wearing. He'd failed to mention to him that the sort of play he'd initially had in mind would have resulted in that lovely combination lying in ribbons on the floor. It looked rather expensive, and he'd already experienced the drama that could ensue when anything unfortunate happened to his favorite clothes.

Grell looked the Undertaker in the eyes as he was carried up the stairs. "Are you angry with me… for not wanting to use a safe word? I didn't mean to loose my temper either. You're just so different. You drive me insane and I am already clinically declared as insane or I use to be. I guess I am trying to understand why you don't want to use me. I assumed you would and you looked so pleased when I was bound. I don't want to have ruined anything for you. I am sorry that… " Grell laid his chin on Khronos' shoulder and whispered. "That, I cried."

Undertaker shook his head, and he pushed the doorway separating the basement stairs from the rest of the living quarters, nudging it open with his boot. "You didn't spoil anything, my dear. I'm simply not used to playing a game like that with someone I have genuine feelings for; and knowing that 'doctor' did…whatever all he did to you…I've got to feel my way into it."

He kissed him lightly on the nose as he carried him through the hallway, heading for the bedroom. "I need to know you can feel safe with me, is all. It might seem a silly thing to you, but the safe word is as much for my piece of mind as your protection. I can play the fiend and have fun while I'm doing it, but the act has to be separate from reality. I need to be able to comfort you afterwards, without you withdrawing from me. Don't know if that makes much sense to you, love, but you cope with your situation differently than Vivian did with hers. She was…very fragile. Took a lot of time, patience and care to get to where I could touch her without causing her tears, and it wasn't because she didn't want to."

He nuzzled Grell's hair as he carried him through the door. "So just try to be patient with me, darlin'. I'm trying to learn what works and what doesn't, and the protective side of me recoils at the thought of causing you any sincere distress."

"I don't quite know how to respond. You treat me like Ronnie, but you know…" Grell looked away, turning his head slightly. "Differently."

Grell let out a few giggles before going on. "Differently in the sense that Ronnie and I would never… like you and I." He shook his head as he met the mortician's gaze. "Ronnie has been gracious since the day we met. I on the other hand not so gracious, especially when he nearly lopped all of my hair off with his damn scythe. I could have killed him right where we stood. Unfortunately demons stood in my way and I had to save his rookie arse."

He reached up and touched the Undertaker's cheek. "I am not a toy to Ronnie. And I don't believe I am a toy to you. Thank you."

Undertaker beamed at him, suddenly fearing he might blush. "I'm glad to hear that you and your Ronnie will never get up to the things that you and I do." He spoke the next in a whisper, brushing his lips against Grell's ear. "And I may treat you as a toy when we play, but you're perfectly welcome to do the same with me…and that's all in fun."

He winked at him, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes beneath the fringe of his bangs. "Besides, an _actual _ toy wouldn't give me so much trouble."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Grell raised his chin in the air and closed his eyes. He huffed in response. "I am not the trouble maker."

Finding his response completely charming, the mortician chuckled and gave him a little squeeze. "Oh, really now? Burying me in salt couldn't be construed as troublesome, eh? Not that it wasn't an entertaining experience, of course."

He nibbled the redhead's earlobe. "And what about the time when you stole that poor choirboy's uniform, hmm? I'm also quite sure it was you that painted the words: 'Old Loon' on the back of my travel cart. I haven't forgotten the sign you pinned to the back of my robes when I assisted Dispatch with the reaping in London, back when that angel flipped its top."

He chose not to mention the Ripper events, wanting to keep it light.

"Hey! That little brat did not look nearly as delightful as me in that uniform. And how would you know? You weren't even there to witness how fetching it was on me." He scowled at his lover. "And besides you ended up in that pot as punishment. Had you not insulted my un-dead corpse, you would not have been placed in that bloody salt pot."

Grell looked at the mortician, a funny, puzzled look on his face. "Why did you have a pot of salt in your shop? A small one I could see, but that was a rather large and unseemly pot."

It took the older reaper a moment to stop laughing, and he eased Grell onto the bed and sat down beside him, looking him over with appreciation. "The little lord told me all about your shenanigans inside the monastery. Between you playing dress up and the butler lifting the skirts of the nun, the lad was fit to be tied. As for the salt…well…er…"

He scratched his head, trying to remember what he'd been planning to do with all of that salt. Was he going to make pickles? Mummify some corpses? He couldn't recall. Finally, he shrugged. "I'm the Undertaker, that's why. I'm eccentric." He grinned and spread his hands.

Blinking in utter disbelief, Grell's lip began to curl. "I am going to stuff that little brat in a pot of salt one day. He didn't even bother ordering that blasted demon of his from prodding the religious bi…" Quickly, Grell clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes growing round.

Undertaker's brows went up, and he quietly envied Michaelis his ability to make Grell so violently jealous, without even trying. "My, my…still jealous over that, are we?" He sighed, smirking ruefully. At least he knew Sebastian wasn't likely to take advantage of Grell's attraction for him. He wondered if the redhead would ever react that way over _him_, if another person tried to get him to "prod" them.

"I am not jealous of that tart. I just forgot myself for a moment," He replied haughty. "Besides… I have no more interest in Sebastian. He toyed with my heart much to frequently and Ciel never made good on the deal he cut me, for protecting his little bum. They are both liars and manipulators and I want nothing more to do with either of them."

Undertaker tapped his smiling lips absently with a nail. "Hmm, I'll take your word for it." He slid his hand up the smaller reaper's bare arm, before settling it on his shoulder and kneading the tension he found there. He retracted his fingernails so as not to claw him in the process. "Less competition for me."

Grell slowly closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. The massage felt heavenly to him, and he imagined this must be what Heaven would feel like, to a reaper. He sighed softly before asking, "Khronos, do you think we are moving to fast? It has been only a couple of days since I ended up here, covered in paint. Should I be feeling so much, so soon? I know we are reapers and mortal logic and rules need not apply to us, but I cannot help but wonder."

Undertaker shrugged. "The way I see it, you and I've known each other for much longer than that. The relationship we've got now is new, but we aren't just a pair of strangers that hopped into bed upon first meeting and started to shag. It's not as if either of us is proposing marriage."

Undertaker leaned in and brushed his lips against Grell's ear. "But if you want to take it slower, we can. I've already decided you're worth investing time and effort into, love. Time is something I have in abundance."

A shiver wiggled its way down Grell's spine, his body trembling in response. "No. I just wanted to be sure that you were truly okay with the speed at which we are moving." He turned around to face his lover. "I wish I could stay here forever in your arms. I dread returning to work, when I have to. Not with a copy cat running around."

Undertaker stroked his hair soothingly, his expression darkening a bit with protective feelings. He'd gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of passion, drama and laughs of his newfound relationship with this reaper that he'd neglected to move as quickly as he should have. "Then we'd best see to finding this copycat and taking care of the good doctor quickly."

He started to get up. "I'll begin pulling some strings now, my dear. I've still got trustworthy contacts I can rely on, within the organization. Some of them still owe ol' Khronos a favor or three."

"This instance?" Grell asked as he reached out and grabbed his lover's hand. "I thought you wanted to cuddle me. Perhaps we can snuggle for just a bit and then you can do what you must." He smiled up at his lover. His thumb stroking the back of Khronos' hand.

The older reaper paused, and a smile flitted over his lips. "I did vow to pamper you a bit, didn't I?" He sat back down on the bed and drew Grell into his embrace. "Sorry, my dear. I almost neglected you. What an unforgivable sin."

He cupped the redhead's chin and tilted his head back to kiss him on the lips, tongue lightly stroking between them in a silent request for entry.

Grell's head tilted back. His lips parted and his eyes closed. Sliding his arms around his lover's waist, he pulled Khronos near. A soft moan passed his lips and filtered into the retired reaper's mouth. His toes curled against the hard surface of the floor below his feet. The hairs on the back if his neck began to rise and they were not the only thing beginning to rise. As a shiver of pleasure shimmied its way down his body, and his pantaloons grew tight. His arousal pressed against the silk fabric. His pulse quickened and his temperature rose. With flushed cheeks, he broke the kiss, his lips swollen.

"Khronos…" He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "Make love… to me." Grell's hand slid from around his lover's waist and stopped when it reached his heart. His eyes searched the Undertaker's as the next statement fell from his lips. "I've never made real, honest love before."

Undertaker nearly asked him what he thought he'd been doing with him, but then it dawned on him that he was asking for tenderness; a gentler experience than what they typically got up to in bed. He smiled, happy to oblige him. He'd actually _tried_ to make love to him like that before, but the impatient darling always roused his passions and it turned into fucking. In fact, he suspected that the same might happen again tonight, if Grell was free to move as he wished. That posed a dilemma, but then Undertaker remembered the suggestion he was going to make earlier, to ease them both into bondage play.

"I'd take great delight in making love to you, my dear," murmured the ancient, "but you have a tendency to bring out the beast in me, so in the interest of not spoiling it, I've got a proposal for you."

Grell nodded, "Yes, what is it you would like to propose?"

Khronos took the younger reaper's hands in his, brought them each to his lips for a kiss, and then crossed the wrists over one another. He captured them with one long hand and he bore Grell down gently, guiding him onto his back and holding his wrists together over his head. He smiled against his lips as he kissed him, excited by the thought of playing a little, even if they didn't carry on with the original plan.

"Why don't we try scarves, first?" suggested the mortician. He brushed his lips over the fine planes of Grell's face, kissing the soft skin lightly as he trailed over the bone structure. "Nothing heavy, too tight or uncomfortable…just a bit of restraint while I make love to you, hmm?"

He released his wrists slowly, running his fingernails lightly over the pale, up-stretched arms. "'Course, we could cuddle for a while first, if you prefer. I'm in no hurry, love. The scarves don't need to come into play until things really begin to heat up."

Grell's pulse quickened and his eyes widened as he was pinned delicately down. He hadn't expected that, but then as the Undertaker began to speak and released his wrists, his pent up fear subsided. He swallowed, then parted his lips to speak. "W-whatever you think…. is best. Just don't stop…" A tinge of pink rose to the surface of his cheeks. "Touching me."

Undertaker smiled, his slow caress moving down to the creamy shoulders to skim over them, before toying with the lace on the corset. "There's hardly a chance of that, my dear." His mouth continued its path, kissing the redhead's collar bone before pausing at the v shape where it met Grell's throat. He traced that lovely clavicle with his tongue, his hands now sliding down over Grell's waist. He balanced himself with one arm as he stretched out beside him on the bed, resting one leg over Grell's thighs before wedging his knee between them, silently bidding them to part. His free hand traced a lazy path to the outer thigh, the nails retracting slowly to avoid inadvertently scratching the delicate skin.

"I do love to touch you," murmured the ancient. He kissed his way back up Grell's neck as he stroked his thigh. "I adore how soft and smooth your skin is." He started to snap open the fastening on the garter belt, but he thought better of it. He liked it on his lover too much to remove it, just yet. He kissed and sucked at his throat, letting his hand glide over Grell's thigh to the inside of it. He skimmed the surface of it lightly with his fingertips, slowly dragging them up toward the silk pantaloons and the bulge growing there.

"Khronos," Grell gasped.

His eyes closed and he bit his bottom lip. Inch by inch, Grell's legs spread a part, obeying the mortician's request. He shivered with anticipation when the Undertaker's knuckles brushed his burgeoning member. Instinctively he rolled his hips, begging to be touched. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his lover's long silver tresses, careful not to snag his red painted nails in the silky locks.

Hearing the pleading tone in his voice, Undertaker guessed what he wanted and he obliged him. He covered Grell's mouth with in a kiss as he cupped between his legs and began to massage the hardness under the delicate garment he wore. He loved the way Grell writhed when he touched him, loved the way he spoke his ancient name with such raw, open passion. His tongue fenced with the redhead's as he pleasured him, and he held off on removing the pantaloons to expose the swollen treasure beneath them. He intended to make this last for a while, and he refused to be rushed.

Growing a bit impatient to be touched and wanting his lover naked, Grell pawed at the Undertaker's robes. He fumbled blindly with the buttons running down the front of the mortician's clothing. Impetuous and burning with passion, the redhead, started to tear the black fabric. The older reaper caught hold of his wrists and shook his head, grinning down at him and clucking his tongue.

"Now, now, pet…we have an agreement." He forced the redhead's wrists up and over his head, crossing them together and holding them tightly in place with one long hand. "Looks as though I'll have to bind you in place to keep you from misbehaving on me."

He'd had silk bindings in mind before, but knowing how impetuous his lover was, he decided his own belt might be more efficient, for a start. Pressing Grell down on the mattress with his own weight, he held his wrists in place with one hand while untying the belt of his robes with the other. He traced the complaining reaper's lips with his tongue as he tugged the cloth belt free and used it to tie his wrists together firmly, before tying them to the brass bars above his head. He ground his hips between Grell's parted thighs, distracting him with the feel of his hard bulge rubbing intimately against his.

"There now," said the mortician in satisfaction when Grell struggled to break the bindings and failed. "Nice and secure. Where was I?"

He balanced on one arm and ran his palm over the frustrated agent's heaving chest, tweaking the partly exposed nipples before moving on to stroke the fine, lacy contours of the corset. He lifted his hips and settled his hand over the swell of his lover's arousal again, rubbing it through the panties once more. "Settle down, my dear," he purred, kissing Grell's neck as he fondled him. "I'm going to make love to you as promised, but it seems you need a firm hand."

He gave the rigid length of Grell's erection a squeeze through the material of his garments, smiling against his neck.

"Khronos… but this…this is… isn't this what… the basement?" Grell stammered as he glanced above his head, taking in the sight of his hands bound. Confused, the redhead squirmed, but as the Undertaker's fingers began to squeeze his sex, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He groaned in pleasure, lifting his hips off the mattress ever so slightly. Aching to be touched with his lover's bare hand, Grell pressed his groin into the mortician's stroking palm.

"That can come another time," assured the Undertaker softly, kissing his way from Grell's throat to his chest. "Tonight, I think we can satisfy a bit of my kink whilst still giving you what you requested, darlin'."

His lips left a damp trail over the smooth, pale skin as he meandered his way down to one rosy, erect nipple. He tugged the reinforced material of the corset down a little with his teeth, and then he took the tightened bud between his lips and suckled it. He flicked his tongue against it to give his captive lover tingling pleasure as he steadily rubbed his straining crotch. He felt the dampness coming through the delicate material of the pantaloons and he paused his fondling to ease them down a bit—just enough to expose the flushed head of Grell's cock. He gently petted it, running his fingers over it almost teasingly as he tongued and sucked the redhead's nipple.

"How… nngh.. is this making…" Grell swallowed hard, his mouth falling open. The rest of his words coming out in a soft whisper. "Love? You—Satan's spawn, this is torture."

The older reaper chuckled and moved his oral attentions to the other nipple, circling it with his tongue before tugging gently at it with his lips. He released it briefly to explain. "I take it you've never really been made love to before, my dear. Such a thing requires time, and lots of pleasuring. I want to savor every moan, every gasp and every cry from those beautiful lips; and I want _you_ to savor every sensation I give you."

With that said, he resumed his patient licking and suckling, occasionally giving each nipple a gentle pinch with his teeth to keep them hard and erect for his attentions. He slipped the pantaloons down further and gripped the length of Grell's arousal, giving it a squeeze and a stroke. He did it a few more times before lifting his hips and easing off to the side, so that he could pull the undergarment off of his lover. He guided Grell to lift his legs and bend them at the knees so that he could slide the pantaloons off completely, and once that was finished he settled his hips between his stocking-clad legs again. The garter belt was far too appealing to remove, and so he left it and the stockings on.

He finally took a break from teasing Grell's hard little nipples, and he kissed his way down the laced material of the corset. He paused at Grell's belly button, peeking out from beneath the bottom of the corset, and he teased it with his tongue before moving further down. He pushed Grell's legs apart further and guided them up so that they were resting on his shoulders, and he held the creamy hips with his palms as he licked up and down the length of his captive's cock.

Grell's hips jerked from the sensation of his lover's tongue as it circled around the head of his pulsing cock. Toes curling and knees shaking, the redhead began to whimper. "Merciful death! Please end this torture… I can't."

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the mortician's mouth cover him completely. Ignoring his plea for mercy. For a moment, Grell thought for sure his heart had stopped beating. His breath got caught in his throat and his knuckles turned white from gripping the belt binding his wrists. His right leg began to slide off the Undertaker's shoulder. Grell's eyes watered slightly. The feeling of overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body…

Undertaker drew deeply on the hard, throbbing length, relaxing his throat to take it in completely. He stroked the underside with his tongue, molding to the shape of it, and he raised his head to allow it to slide out to the tip, wet with saliva. He did it again, turning his head a bit to sheath it at a different angle and sucking strongly all the while. He smiled around the girth of it as Grell's hips began to move, enjoying the sounds he was making. He kneaded his hips with his fingers, leaving his nails out to lightly dig into the soft skin.

Releasing Grell's sex with a wet popping sound, Undertaker smiled at him. "Like that, pretty rose? You complain, but your body tells an entirely different tale."

Slowly the redhead opened his eyes and looked down at the grinning mortician. A soft moan passing his lips. "Khronos… let me come? I feel… feel like I am going to burst." He requested, rubbing his foot up down his lover's back.

"In due time, my dear…in due time," promised the older reaper. He slid his hands around from Grell's hips to his inner thighs, pushing them further apart. "I've got a bit more playing to do, yet."

He targeted the plump sack of Grell's balls next, hugging close to his body in their state of need. He licked between them, he nuzzled them, and then he sucked on them gently. He held the redhead's thighs firmly as he played, taking great delight in the shocked gasp his actions provoked. So often this area was neglected by many during loveplay, and he understood the value of a bit of stimulation there. The younger reaper's body shivered—practically convulsing in response to his loving attentions, and he kept going until the shaft above them was twitching and the testes themselves drew even tighter.

He stopped and he stretched out on top of Grell, rubbing his still-covered arousal firmly against the redhead's naked groin. He captured his lips in a demanding kiss, groaning himself with frustrated need.

Grell's eyes automatically closed when his lips were captured. He groaned as he suckled his lover's tongue. He rocked his hips back and forth in time with Khronos'. The feel of the mortician's trousers was a delightful sensation against his sensitive flesh. His fingers began to itch, desiring to be free, to run through Undertaker's glorious, silver locks.

"Khronos." The redhead whispered. "Do you not want to be inside me?" The question was sincere as Grell looked up at his lover. Trying to understand why the Undertaker was being so diligent in his pleasuring ministrations. Surely by now he would want to take him?

Undertaker ground himself against Grell again, demonstrating how hard he was. "I absolutely want to be inside of you, my dear. As much as it tortures me to delay, however, lovemaking isn't just about penetration. Having said that, however…"

He sat up and undressed quickly, his black garments fluttering to the floor. His boots followed, but he didn't bother to remove the string of beads around his throat. He reached for the nightstand, and the bottle of clear oil there. He kissed Grell's lips tenderly as he uncorked the bottle and poured some into one hand. He put the bottle back, and he dipped the fingers of his other hand into his palm to slick them up with the oil there. He kissed his lover again and sat back, with Grell's legs still propped on his shoulders. On his knees now between his thighs, he reached beneath the tight, swollen balls to finger the puckered little entrance there. He gazed down at his lover, breathing heavily as he breached Grell with a finger.

"Ahh…" Grell moaned, his hips rising, He bit down a little to hard on his lip. A tiny bead of ruby red blood bubbled from the swollen flesh. His cock growing harder in the process. Anticipation was building deep inside of his belly.

Undertaker pressed inside, sliding his finger in to the last knuckle before withdrawing and doing it again. He curled it inside of Grell, stroking the internal gland he'd located. As he stimulated him inside, he smeared the oil remaining in his palm over his own arousal, stroking it from root to tip to coat it liberally. The mortician sighed as he did so, gazing down at his lover with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Styx, I want you," he confessed in a deep, breathy voice.

Grell gulped and stared in awe at his lover. The way the words fell from his lips was different. Wundt had many times said the same thing. But he had always meant them in a lusty sense. The way Khronos said them, they held another meaning. It stirred an emotion, locked deep inside the redhead. Admiration and unconditional love.

"I want you too."

The mortician stopped stroking himself, mindful not to overdo it and end up spending himself before he could even begin. He smiled at Grell, noticing the amazed look on his face. He wasn't quite sure about the reason for it, but he was too aroused to question it right now. Making a mental note to inquire about it later, he finished preparing him and he turned his head to kiss the redhead's calf, before positioning himself on top of him. He lowered his head to lick away the blood on Grell's lips, before tenderly invading him with his aching arousal. He did it slowly; allowing his lover to adjust and feel every hard inch of him.

Staring up at his lover, Grell's mouth fell open. A soft moan escaped his lips as Khronos pressed his cock inside, filling him. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into the soft flesh of his palms. "Kh-Khronos… ahh." His hips lifted ever so slightly from the mattress, allowing the retired reaper deeper penetration.

Undertaker pressed in firmly to the hilt, and he lowered his head to kiss Grell's throat. A soft grunt of pleasure escaped him, and he withdrew slowly. "Easy, my lovely lady," he murmured huskily, "nice and slow." He pumped gently, entering Grell shallowly and withdrawing again to do it again; teasing him with just a taste of his length. Hearing his moans, the older reaper smiled and pushed in all the way, holding steady within him and kissing his gasping lips.

"This feeling," gasped Khronos, "heavenly bliss, you fey, wild darlin'." He withdrew again, tracing Grell's lips with his tongue as he gave a couple more shallow pumps before sliding in completely again.

"Ahh…" Grell gasped. He struggled to free his hands, desperate to touch his lover. "Khronos….nngh… Let me go… please? I want to touch you." His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the mortician slid further into him. Breathlessly he complained. "I… I can't. Lucifer! How is this… ahh… making love? Y-you're t-torturing me."

The Undertaker grinned against Grell's animated lips. "Not just yet, love." He thrust shallowly again, before driving it deep once more and rotating his hips to massage him inside. "I want to savor you a while longer, before I release you."

He thrust his tongue into his mouth and swirled it around, caressing Grell's intimately. He gave a couple of hard, firm thrusts before withdrawing to the tip and pumping shallowly again. Balancing on one arm, he teased one of the redhead's peaked nipples with his fingertips.

Grell's cock twitched between them, the nipple teasing causing the reaction. He gasped into his lover's mouth, becoming impatient once more he tried to break free. Tearing his lips from the mortician's, he groaned. "I made a mistake…. nngh… You're killing me. Ahh…. Khronos?"

The older reaper growled softly in response, and he started to thrust harder and deeper. Since Grell hadn't employed his safe word, he refused his breathless pleas. "Just a bit…longer. Unh…feels so fantastic, love."

He kissed his way down the redhead's arching throat, his lips leaving a moist trail over his heaving chest as they made their way to the other nipple. Still fondling the right one, he took the left into his mouth and he flicked his tongue over the hard little bud. His pelvic thrusts increased in speed to match the force of them, and he groaned softly.

Freezing, Grell softly spoke, "Khronos? Please.. I don't want to be tied up any longer. I want to make love with you. I want to touch you. Be one with you. Don't make me say his name."

There was no way the older reaper could have ignored that heartfelt plea. He stared down at his lover and he slowed his movements to gentle thrusts again. He stopped teasing Grell's body and he reached up to deftly loosen and tug free the bindings on his wrists, shaking his hair out of his eyes so that the younger reaper could see the tenderness in his gaze.

"I never want you to feel unsafe with me, love."

Now free, Grell threw his arms around the mortician's neck, pulling him down and crushing their mouths together. He kissed the retired reaper hungrily and passionately. Eyes shut and soft moans passing to his lover. He wrapped his legs around Khronos' waist, bucking gently to urge him to carry on.

The Undertaker complied readily, his thrusts returning to their previous intensity. He shuddered and lowered his head to kiss Grell, nostrils flaring with his quickening breath. A low groan of need reverberated in his throat, but he held back his aggression and made love to his companion's mouth with his own, tension warring with tenderness.

"So lovely," gasped Undertaker between kisses. He pressed his lips against Grell's nose, cheeks and chin, kissing softly. He slowed the speed of his thrusts again, but retained the force behind them. "Clenching so tight around me…making me swell even harder…mercy, I'm close!"

Grell let go of the mortician's neck, slipping his hands under Khronos' so that they could lace their fingers together, symbolic of being one. He began to pant heavily as he forced his eyes to stay open, keeping them locked with his lover's. "I love you… Khronos."

The older reaper cursed his own romantic nature as those words nearly drove him over the edge. No…not until his crimson lover was at completion. He smiled painfully down at him, eyes flashing with lust and more. "The feeling's more than mutual, my dear."

He pumped faster, watching the way Grell's lips rounded into a little "o" of pleasure as he drove his cock against that spot inside of him. The heavy-lashed eyes widened slightly, struggling to focus but remaining fixated on his. The Undertaker angled his thrusts purposefully, holding that passion-glazed stare with his own. He pushed his body beyond the limits of pleasure and he squeezed Grell's hands, riding the very edge.

Feeling his own climax nearing, Grell dug his nails into the backs of his lover's hands. His legs gripped tighter around the mortician's waist, his moans growing louder with each thrust.

"Nnngh… I'm gonna… ahh… " Grell panted as his mouth fell open. He tilted his head back into the pillows stacked around him, exposing his delectable throat. Squeezing his eyes shut as he was pushed to the brink of existence. "Khronos!" His lovers' name tore from his mouth as he was flung into the abyss of ecstasy.

"Oh God," gasped the Undertaker as his lover's ass clamped down tight around his sex.

He shoved in deep and bowed his head as the rhythmic squeezes finished him. He filled Grell to the brink, his body tensing all over with the sensation of his climax. He collapsed on top of him when it was over, breathing the scent of his hair in deeply. He kissed the redhead's perspiration-dampened temple and he sighed against his ear, trying to catch his breath. His nose pressed against the shell of the smaller reaper's ear as he smiled, quite pleased that he'd finally been allowed to make love to him. The act hadn't fed his darker desires, but it had certainly fulfilled the romantic in him and made him feel like he was giving his lady the attention and care she deserved.

"I really do think of you as a lady," he whispered thoughtfully, nuzzling Grell's ear. It came so easy to him, to refer to this unpredictable creature as both male and female without a second thought. Masculine and feminine…Grell flowed so easily between the two. "The best sort of lady; one that doesn't shy away from my oddness. I'll cherish you for that, love."

Grell turned towards him, laying nearly on top of the retired reaper. His sweat soaked body sticking to his lover. Crimson locks draped around their heads, mingling with the silver tresses of the mortician. He clung as tight as he could, shivering as the air in the room kissed his damp skin.

"I've never been with anyone like you before. No one ever calls me that. A lady. Thank you." Grell pressed kisses to his lover's chest.

"No need to thank me for seeing you as you are," insisted the mortician with a gentle squeeze. He let his head fall back on the pillows and he closed his eyes. "Just because some fools can't see it doesn't make you less a lady, my dear."

Looking up, Grell smiled. "I never want to spend another night without you touching me. I love the way your hands feel on my body. The taste of your lips upon my own. I want to spend eternity drunk…"

Grell looked up over his left shoulder as the bell over, the shop door rang. He looked back at his lover pensively. "Didn't you lock the door when we came in?"

~xox~

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

The mortician's expression immediately hardened, and he nudged Grell off of him to roll out of the bed. He immediately manifested his death scythe, not bothering with clothing. "I'm sure I did, love. Best arm yourself."

Scrambling from the bed, Grell picked the Undertaker's robe up from the floor, pulling it around his naked flesh. He did not have his chainsaw but summoned the pair of scissors he had been given in replacement. Quietly he crept behind his nude lover.

The hall was dim, the shop darker. Scones adorning the walls had yet to bit lit as the day's warm light had begun to fade. Night time quickly blanketing the world once more in darkness. The only sound, Grell could make out was the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Undertaker didn't even consider his lack of garments as he glided through the curtains leading into his shop; defending his territory and his lover was more important to him than modesty. He had his doubts that the intruder was a reaper. He'd warded his shop against uninvited Shinigami. However, he could sense the aura of a death god as soon as he stepped through the alcove, and he saw the silhouette of a man with feathered hair. His vision was too poor to make out the details, but the faint flicker of the sconces reflected off a pair of glasses.

The mortician didn't hesitate. He came at the intruder with deadly intent, his scythe moaning through the air as he swung it.

"Shit!" Came the exclamation from a young male voice, and the stranger ducked in time to avoid getting beheaded. "Whoa, it's just me!"

Khronos paused long enough to gesture for the lights to flare up, and he peered down at the familiar young man sprawled on the floor, making a warding gesture with his gloved hands. He propped his scythe against the floor and grinned.

"Well hullo there, Mr. Mustard. How exactly did you get in?" He'd already invited Ronald into his shop, but he still shouldn't have been able to waltz right in.

"I jimmied the lock," answered the younger reaper as he scrambled to his feet. He averted his eyes. "Uh, ya might want to cover up, old man."

Grell ran forward, past his nude lover, barking. "Ronald David Knox, what in the Hell are you doing back here? And Why are you breaking in, rather than knocking on the damn door?"

But before the blond could utter a single word, Grell had him by the ear, dragging him across the shop to a coffin. Letting go, the redhead pointed to the black painted wood and ordered, "Now sit and explain yourself."

Ronald looked between his mentor and the still-naked Undertaker, flustered. "W-well, I tried knocking but there wasn't an answer, and I figured I ought to have a look around in case you'd been snatched up. I was gonna check your flat if you weren't here, or leave a note for ya. Er…could you please put something on, Undertaker?"

The mortician glanced down at himself, and he shrugged. With a gesture, he manifested a form-fitting outfit of leather, buckles and black cloth to cover his pale body. "There. Better?"

Ronald eyed him warily, obviously recalling the last time he'd seen him in that outfit on board the ocean liner. "I guess."

"Then tell us what you came to say," demanded the old reaper with a sharp grin. "You interrupted cuddle time."

Ronald heaved a sigh. "I didn't need to hear that. Anyhow, one of the girls in Intel found something about Senpai and the doctor in the files for me." He scratched his head and looked at Grell with a faintly worried expression on his young face. "Something about hypnosis. I only got some of it but…did he mess with your head, Senpai?"

Grell looked down fidgeting. His body swaying slightly. "Possibly. I don't know for sure." He mumbled. "Excuse me a moment."

Feeling sick, Grell ran to the bathroom. He pulled a cloth from the linen closet and rinsed it under cold water. After wringing it out he placed it against his cheeks. As he looked in the mirror. His reflection was replaced with an image; a memory. He was staring up at the white ceiling of the mental ward. His eyes were being forced open by the two goons. He was strapped to the table, he could remember the feeling of the leather around his wrists. He looked away, shaking his head. Wanting to forget. But Wundt's face appeared before him as he looked up again, speaking his name. Startled, the redhead stumbled back away from the counter. The back of his legs caught on the side of the tub, and then he was falling. He landed with a loud thud, hitting the back of his head upon the tile.

Khronos heard the noise, and he quickly pardoned himself from Ronald's presence and hurried back through the curtain and to the bathroom. Upon finding Grell unconscious on the floor, he banished his scythe and knelt before him to take him into his arms.

"I've got you, love," he muttered as he picked up the limp redhead. He carried him to his bedroom and he called out to his uninvited guest. "Might as well come back here, Mustard Seed. I may need your assistance."

Ronald came through the curtains and followed the sound of his voice to the bedroom. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he watched the mortician gently lay his mentor down on the bed and cover him up. "What the hell happened?" he demanded.

The Undertaker shook his head. "I'm not sure. Your observation evidently upset him, though. Fetch the damp washcloth from the bathroom and bring it to me."

Ronald hastened to comply, quickly retrieving the requested item and bringing it to him. Khronos took the cloth from him and he folded it up and brushed Grell's crimson bangs aside to place it on his forehead. He gently patted his lover's pallid cheeks, speaking softly to him.

"Come back to us, darlin'. Don't you mind those nasty memories; you're safe in ol' Undertaker's house, now."

Ronald watched the older reaper working over the reaper that had trained him from a fledgling and he bit his lip, feeling like an interloper. There was definitely something between the eccentric old man and Grell…something special that he'd have never expected Grell to share with another living being. The Undertaker treated him with such tenderness and care. It was an unusual sight to behold. As menacing and creepy as the mortician could be, it was clear that Grell Sutcliff now held a special place in his heart.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked the blond, his voice betraying slight anxiety. He'd never seen Grell so vulnerable before.

The Undertaker kept trying to revive the crimson reaper, a slight frown marring his usually smiling features. "I don't think he's been 'okay' for some time now, but I intend to rectify that, if I can." He spoke to Grell again, his voice again returning to that low, gentle drone. "Wake up, lovely. You're scaring the boy."

Ronald nearly snorted, fairly certain that 'the boy' wasn't the only one alarmed by his mentor's condition. He cast a look behind him at the open door. "I'll go make sure the front door is locked up," he offered, trusting this odd reaper to take care of his Senpai.

Khronos nodded, keeping his intense gaze on Grell's face. The redhead stirred and the Undertaker's lips pulled into a grin of relief as he began to come too. "That's it," he urged, "Wake up, my dear."

Slowly, Grell's eyelids began to flutter. A painful groan forced its way out as he struggled to put his thoughts in order. Brows furrowing, the redhead whimpered, "Stop… please… let me go."

Something was warm on his cheek. Familiar. Tender. His brows eased and his lips bowed into a tiny smile. It was Khronos. He was there next to him. 'Wake up, my dear.' His voice was soothing. It was beckoning him to wake. Grell turned his head into his lover's touch. Languidly the veils of his eyes lifted, revealing his lover before him.

"Khronos…" Grell whispered. But before he could utter another word a wave of emotion crashed over the redhead. Tears gushed from his eyes and he turned onto his side, grasping the mortician's hand, squeezing it as though it was his only anchor to reality. His body shook, racked by sobs.

The reaction made the Undertaker's heart ache, and he returned the pressure of Grell's hand and stroked his hair, bending forward to kiss his tears away. "Shh, love. You're safe now."

Ronald came back in and he stopped in his tracks at the sight of his mentor's breakdown. "What did ya do to him?"

Khronos glanced at him with faint irritation. "Nothing, lad. He's traumatized, is all. Grell, look at me, my dear. Your Khronos is right here. I won't allow anything to happen to you."

Through a screen of tears, Grell looked up at his lover. "He's never going to let me go. Even if you killed him. He made sure I would never forget." His voice was low as he spoke and his bottom lip trembled with each syllable.

The Undertaker's expression darkened. "All the more reason to put an end to him." The darkness lifted, and he smiled tenderly at him. "And I'll just have to work harder to give you happier memories, won't I?"

The mortician lowered his mouth to Grell's trembling lips and kissed him lingeringly. "The Grell Sutcliff I've come to know wouldn't let him win. You can beat this, and I'll be right at your side helping you."

"I'm not as strong as everyone thinks. Not… not after…" Grell's words trailed off as he sat up and wrapped his arms around the Undertaker's neck. He buried his face in the crook of the mortician's neck. "Help me."

Khronos embraced him and held him close. "I will, darlin'. You're stuck with me."

Sensing that both of them had forgotten his presence entirely, Ronald left the room to make a phone call to his supervisor. He was supposed to be out on assignment, of course. It wouldn't do to have William questioning his whereabouts, and he knew exactly where his next collection would be in an hour. A little misdirection wouldn't hurt anything…though he hated to lie to his boss.

Back in the bedroom, the Undertaker stroked Grell's hair soothingly and rocked him. Indeed, Grell was all that existed to him at the moment. "You're all right, love. He won't touch you again, as long as I live."

After a moment, Grell sat back nodding. He wiped the tears away and swallowed, taking a deep cleansing breath. "I am sorry to have frightened you. I… I was just trying… trying to wash my face. In the mirror. He was there staring back at me." Grell looked down at the robe he was fiddling with. "I heard his voice. It… it was clear as day to me. As though he were standing before me."

Grell raised his head and peered into the mortician's eyes. He reached out and pressed his palm to Khronos' cheek, a smile forming on his lips. Gently he traced the line of the mortician's cheek bone with his thumb.

"He's going to try and kill you." The statement fell from Grell's lips. Dry and unfeeling. Without a trace of emotion. Disembodied.

The Undertaker shrugged. "I suppose so. Better reapers than him have tried before, though."

He cupped a hand over the one caressing his face, and he turned his head to place a kiss in the palm. His eyes held the redhead's as he spoke in a low, confident voice. "I rather look forward to the attempt, my dear. It will only make the decision to reap him easier for me, and I have no intention of making it a fast death."

"You won't be dealing with just Wundt." Grell replied as he tilted his head along with the mortician's. "His goons never leave his side. They… they are always there."

He shuddered at the memory of how many times it was their hands on his body. "You don't know Wundt. Had I met Wundt on the street, before he got a hold of me, I could have bested him. But he cheated. Now I know he…" Ashamed, Grell turned his head and whispered. "He can easily overtake me."

The mortician rubbed Grell's arms. "Try not to fret, lovely. I think they'll find me a tough meal to swallow, if they come after me. Even so, I'll take your advice to heart and try to be careful."

He pulled back a bit to kiss him, trying his best to convey both confidence and tenderness in the motions of his lips. He deepened the kiss after a moment, not really trying to initiate something sexual, but to distract him and show him how sincere he was in his desire to protect and comfort him. Grell was his lady now, and he was determined not to fail him the way he'd failed his last love.

Grell melted into the kiss instantly. All thoughts vanishing in the blink of an eye. What was it about this reaper, that could make him think of other pleasures so easily? His arms slipped back around his lover's neck. His fingers combing through the silver tresses.

But as Grell opened his eyes, he was reminded that they had a visitor. "Ronnie!" He exclaimed pulling back from the mortician. His cheeks turning bright red as he wiped his lips to dry them so he would not drool from the lack of contact.

Ronald hastily busied himself looking at the ceiling and counting the cracks in it. He whistled casually, blushing as deeply as his mentor.

"Oh, hey. I was just coming back in to tell ya I'm going now, and ya might want to lock up after me. I've got an assignment I'd better get on top of it before I start raising questions."

Climbing from the bed, Grell rushed over to the blond. "Ronnie, I… well thank you. Be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. Wundt… well he is very bad. Please don't let your guard down. He…" Grell looked down for a moment, before throwing his arms around the young reaper's neck.

"Ronnie, he did bad things to me. I don't want him to hurt you too." Whispered the redhead as he clung tightly to the blond.

Ronald hugged him awkwardly back, fully aware of the silver-haired reaper nearby. Undertaker didn't exactly seem like the possessive sort, but he didn't want to give him the wrong idea. "I'll be okay, Senpai. I just want to help keep that bastard from hurting you again and…and I want to be there to see him go down." He looked at the mortician. "I want to help make him pay. Just please take care of Sutcliff Senpai, okay?"

The Undertaker inclined his head, his pale bangs falling over his eyes with the motion. "You have my word, chap. They'll have to get through me to get to him again. That's a promise."

Ronald nodded, sniffed a little and stepped back. He forced a smile for Grell's benefit. "Well, I'd better head off. Stick with the old guy, even if he makes you crazy sometimes. I…I really think he means it when he says he'll protect you. Maybe you're the only one alive he really _will_ protect."

Glancing back at Khronos, Grell swung his and Ronald's arms, their hands still interlocked. A smile creeping onto his face as he spoke. "He means well. But even Wundt can out smart him. He is dangerous and cunning."

"I'm starting to get that," mumbled Ronald. He patted Grell on the arm, sighed and stepped back. "Just keep safe. It sounds like he's got a serious obsession with you and nobody knows I'm even involved."

The blond made a "death" sign with his hands and backed out of the room, grinning cockily as always. "I'll keep you updated on anything else I find, okay? Just hang tight."

Not quite getting the slang, the Undertaker looked around. "Hang tight to what?"

Ronald rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I'll see you later, Senpai."

He left then, and the mortician got up to see him out and lock the door. "I'll be right back, my dear," he assured Grell as he walked out.

~xox~

Grell nodded and slowly sauntered to the bed. He flopped down on his belly. Humming delightfully back to his and the Undertaker's love making. A rather large grin appeared on his face as his eyes closed. "What delights." He mumbled.

Grell paused in his reverie. His eyes flying wide open as a strange sound emanated from the other side of the room. His heart stopped beating for just a moment as he sat up. His head turning to the far wall. The curtains were drawn on the window. No shadows passed behind them. But there came the noise again. Curious, the redhead rolled off of the bed and cautiously approached.

Listening carefully, the sound seem to be coming from outside and just below the window. "What a bother. What is that sound? Surely, Khronos does not have rats scurrying to and fro his shop. I wonder… kids perhaps? Trying to mess with the old codger. Yes, kids I bet." Grell mumbled to himself. The curtain rippled, "Huh? How?"

Quickly, Grell threw back the curtains. "Where's the glass?!" He exclaimed.

~xox~

After seeing Ronald out and locking up, Undertaker returned to the bedroom. "All right, darlin', it's just you and…me." He stopped with a puzzled frown, looking around. The covers were rumpled and pulled down from where Grell had been moments ago, but the redhead was nowhere to be found. He turned and went back down the hallway, suspecting he went to the bathroom.

"Grell? Love?" He found the bathroom door hanging open, and again there was no Grell. Fighting back a feeling of sudden unease, he retraced his steps. There were only so many places his lover could be in the small living quarters. He checked the kitchen, peeked into the shop, and finally decided to look in the basement. Perhaps Grell had gone down there to look at the bodies he still had waiting for burial. Maybe he wanted to check them for signs of copycat activity.

He wasn't down there, either. Khronos manifested his death scythe and took the stairs two at a time. His alarms hadn't gone off, and he could still sense traces of Grell's presence. He had no logical reason to fear someone had managed to get into his dwelling and stolen his lover away, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Grell, I can take a joke as well as the next fellow," he called out as he revisited areas he'd already searched, "better than most, actually, but I'm not laughing. Come out, my dear. You're beginning to worry me!"

~xox~

Pain. Nausea. Drowsiness. Groggily, Grell began to stir. ~_Blackness? Where am I? Why do I hurt?~_ He thought as a cloud of confusion spread through out his mind. The side of his neck was throbbing and he felt restricted, like he could not move. The lids of his eyes were heavy and he felt like sleeping some more. ~_Why am I so sleepy? Am I moving? I feel like I am moving?I must be dreaming.~ _

A sudden bump had the redhead banging his shoulder against something, Grell's eyes shot wide. He blinked, frightened. ~_Confined?~_ He tried to speak, only to discover something was between his lips. ~_A strap? It tastes like leather? No!~_

Fear gripping him, he began to struggle. He was on his side.

~_My hands! My Feet! I can't move! Help!~_

His muffled cries went unheard as the trunk he was locked inside bounced in the boot of the buggy rambling down the country road.

~_Khronos!~_

~xox~

_~Khronos!_

The Undertaker paused in his now frantic search for his lover, swearing he could hear his voice in his head…though distantly. He cocked his head and forced himself to calm down, mentally reviewing everything he knew of Wundt and what he'd done to Grell. Ronald Knox had mentioned him "messing with his head". There was no way _any_ uninvited reaper could have gotten within five feet of his property without him knowing about it, much less breaking in. However…

"However, if Wundt has been in his noggin…" he mused, a chill going through him. Hypnosis. That had to be it. Grell would never just up and leave like that…not now. In the beginning, perhaps, but he had come to trust him, and Undertaker was fairly sure he was happy with him—or as happy as someone in his situation could be.

"Nasty bloke must have triggered him, somehow," reasoned the ancient. "I never set up wards to warn me when an invited guest leaves. My darling rose must have left himself, compelled to go to that cretin."

And the last place he'd seen him was in the bedroom. The Undertaker hastened to the spot and searched around for clues. He felt a draft and he tracked it to one of the windows. His boot crunched on a square of glass when he neared it and he looked down with a frown. Kneeling before the curtain, he lifted the glass and he noted that it wasn't broken, so much as…cut. He got to his feet and yanked the curtain aside to find that someone had cut the glass right out of the pane. He'd have heard it shatter if it had been broken, but this looked to be done by a tradesman.

"Mortal," he guessed. The bastard must have employed a mortal to cut away the glass and give Grell an escape route without alerting him. Wundt must have known he and his goons couldn't approach themselves, so he had a human do this so that he could lure Grell out, somehow.

At least, that was the theory. Undertaker's free hand curled into a fist, his nails biting into the pale flesh of his palm until they drew blood. "He can't be far."

He could use his aura traces to track Grell down. He considered trying to contact Knox and let him know, but every second was precious. Even a short phone call would cost him moments he could scarce afford.

"I'll find you, my dear," promised the mortician.

~xox~

Panic welled up inside the redhead's throat. His wrists and ankles ached. Their bindings cutting into his delicate flesh. He was sure they were bleeding.

~_Wundt. It has to be Wundt. That sound. It was him. He… My neck. He drugged me… again. Please no! Please, not again! Khronos, I'm scared! Help me! Don't let him hurt me again!~_

Tears began to fall from Grell's eyes. Puddling beneath his cheek, on the floor of the trunk. ~_Where are you taking me?~_

Out of frustration, he tried to kick the side of the trunk once more, but it was no use; he only hurt the bottom of his feet in the process. Giving up, he closed his eyes. His mind wandered to his lover's face. His heart lurched and his body shook. He was desperately holding onto the only thing he could. The memory of Khronos' touch.

~_I love you.~_

~xox~

He tracked the traces out of London, taking the road leading to the countryside. He didn't bother hitching up his donkey and cart; he would travel more swiftly by foot, without the hassle of animal or carriage maintenance. With supernatural speed he ran, cloaked from mortal sight by his reaper abilities. He stopped for rest a couple of times, taking a moment to munch on biscuits and drink some water. As powerful as his Shinigami body was, he could still get fatigued and he still required nourishment. He never stopped for long, afraid that any delay might cause him to lose the trail.

The sun was beginning to come up when he sensed he was closing in on his target. Khronos increased his pace and his focus, determination lending him speed. He felt like Grell was so close now. If he kept it up, he might soon catch sight of him or his captors.

~xox~

The buggy pulled off the main road heading East. Most of the hours had been spent heading South, as nightfall had covered the mortal realm. Now, dawn threatened to pierce the world in bright hues of yellow and gold. The once blackened skies had melted to soft hues of dark blue and the stars had begun to blink out for the day. Grell had passed out in the trunk, unaware of the direction they were now heading. His legs and arms had grown numb. The trunk had ran out of oxygen hours back, but fortunately he required no oxygen to live or he would have been dead by now. His breathing had ceased and his heart had slowed to the point where it beat only once every ten minutes or so. A mortal would have thought him dead had they chanced up on him in such a state. One time they did and he had ended up in a coffin within his now-lover's shop.

In his sleeping state, Grell dreamt of nothingness. It was strange and deafening. No sounds, nothing to see. There was a strong sense of fear. And the feeling of being watched. It felt as though he were in the ward again. The only difference was he could see nothing. In the ward there had been light and padded walls, furniture, sometimes. No this was a dream, but he could not wake. He was neither cold or hot. Just there, in the nothingness.

~xox~

They were heading into Dover. Undertaker recognized the landscape and the white cliffs, and he saw a buggy up ahead just heading into the port town. He could sense Grell's presence inside the carriage, and he also sensed the presence of other reapers. As reckless as he could be, he had the safety of another to think about. He had survived for as long as he had through cunning. He was a trickster; a game player…and he needed to employ those qualities now if he was to free his lover and protect him.

Wundt probably expected him to come after them. He likely had a contingency plan to capture him and either kill him or experiment on him as well. Considering the Undertaker's reputation as a mad old has-been, Dispatch would undoubtedly believe the "doctor" if he told them that he posed a threat and must be locked away for treatment. There might be repercussions if he managed to kill him and they learned about it, because mad or not, he was an icon to the reaper organization and they would be reluctant to condone his execution. That was no guarantee that once he had him, Wundt wouldn't find some way to dispose of him and devise some cover story to make it seem he'd escaped and vanished or had to be put down for the safety of others.

Grell didn't believe that he understood how dangerous Wundt was, and perhaps that was true before, but this situation had forced Undertaker to let go of his pride and admit that even an old codger like himself could be outfoxed. He had a new respect for the diabolic mind he was dealing with, and he couldn't afford to allow his emotions cloud his judgment. He thought he understood the kind of man Wundt was now, but he wished he knew more about him personally, to help him predict his next move better.

He would have to wing it. He had abilities that most other reapers scarcely dreamed of, and he would probably have to make use of all of them to avoid falling into a trap.

~xox~

"Be careful with the trunk. Mister Wundt would not take kindly if his valuables were bothered or damaged, in the move." Lloyd Garrison instructed the two crewmen of the cargo ship Fleur De Mal.

He was a tall reaper, with sun gold hair. His frame was statuesque. He had the look of a Roman Emperor. There was an air of authority about him, though he had little to none in actuality. Garrison moved below the radar and was best known for slithering around reaper laws and helping himself to whatever he felt he deserved or wanted. He worked closely with those reapers who sought their own means of eternity. Disobeying their positions and fretting amongst the mortals, reeking havoc for the reapers who did choose to follow the ways of their kind. It had only been two days since Whilhelm Wundt had hired him. He had been commissioned to hunt down and capture a rogue reaper. A patient of the distinguished doctor, who had committed murders and escaped. Or so he had been told. He had been quite taken aback when he had read the name on the missive, Grell Sutcliff. The infamous reaper had once again gone rogue and sought refuge with the ancient and legendary reaper…. Well his name had become lost to the reaper world. Most reapers referred to him simply as Undertaker. However that was not the case with Garrison. He knew that ancient name… Khronos. Like the Undertaker, Garrison was from the old world, he knew precisely what the now retired reaper was capable of. At one time he too, Garrison, had served his duty, obeying the laws that governed his kind. But eventually had retired to seek his own way. He had grown weary of harvesting souls, finding more enjoyment for helping those who hated and despised their positions.

Now, as the sun began to climb the late morning sky, he stood on the docks of Dover. His prey ensnared and ready to ship. Wundt had requested the redhead be brought to Germany, via the mortal world. It would be to dangerous to move him through the reaper realm. It had been so simple. He new the old bugger would have the shop covered in sigils and traps. Alarms and anything else he deemed worthy to keep his lover safe. He was fully aware that the two were sexual in nature. The moment Wundt had discovered them together at the redhead's home he had sent another missive, warning him to tread carefully. The trick was to lure the crimson reaper to the window, that which had been carefully removed by a mortal. Since he—a reaper—could not touch it. Wundt had said that the sound of a dogs whistle would trigger and confuse the redhead. He would imagine many things from scratching to crying when heard; programmed into his brain when he had been under Wundt's care.

Upon his appearance in the open window, a dart, laced with a sedative had been shot. It pierced the tender flesh of Grell's neck. The mortal pulled the sleeping reaper from the Undertaker's shop, bound and gagged him before placing him in the trunk—where he now lay fast asleep and loaded onto the mortal ship, destined to cross the sea and into Germany.

"I said carefully! Do not jar the trunk!" He shouted following the crewmen as they made their way slowly to the cabin where Garrison would spend the day and half watching over the valuable cargo. A wicked grin on his face as he thought of the payment he would be receiving for such a treasure.

~xox~

The Undertaker watched them handling the "cargo" from a distance, hidden and cloaked. Power radiated from the tall blond one, and he seemed vaguely familiar to him. Wundt was nowhere to be seen, but a second, younger reaper with dark hair and a ponytail waited silently with the blond one. Ordinarily, two reapers wouldn't have proven much of a challenge for the Undertaker—after all, he'd fought off a handful of them when they attempted to take his scythe from him back in the day. The blond one made him wary, however. He was old…possibly nearly as old as Khronos himself. He couldn't quite place him from such a distance, with no eyewear to correct his blurry vision, but there was a definite sense of familiarity to him…and that made him dangerous.

"Of course that weasel of a man wouldn't have bothered collecting Grell himself," he whispered as he watched them carry the crate with his love onto the ship. "Why go through the effort, when he could employ others to do it for him?"

He thought of sneaking aboard the ship immediately, but sending for aid once they were out to sea would be difficult, at best. Trusting he had time to gather information and send word to the only reaper he knew he could trust to help his lover, the mortician slunk away and straightened his top-hat. Perhaps he could even stall the journey for a bit. He made sure he was out of range and out of sight of Grell's captives before summoning his small bag of tricks and committing a perfect forgery. Satisfied that it would do for his purposes, he went to the Wharf master to get his information.

"'Morning, chap," greeted the Undertaker with a toothy smile as he stepped into the small building and approached the desk. The portly man sitting behind it looked understandably wary as the tall, unusual looking funeral director approached him. "I run the south London mortuary. I need to inquire about one of the ships in your harbor."

The Wharf master eyed him as if he were a snake about to strike. "To what end, sir?"

Undertaker leaned casually on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, seems there's been a bit of a mix-up with a body I was commissioned to autopsy and my luggage. You see, I have another shop in Belgium where my apprentice is working, and I packed some goods up to send to him. Silly me, though; I ran out of coffins and I had to improvise with one of my trunks for my latest client, until I could finish a proper one for him. The movers came to collect my goods and they went and took the wrong chest!"

The reaper spread his hands and painted the look of a confused and worried tradesman on his face. "I know it's an inconvenience, but I'm sure it would cause quite a stir if port authorities happen to inspect this chest and find a cadaver. I rushed here as soon as I opened the chest I thought had my client in it, only to find apothecary supplies and tools. I could swear I saw some fellows out there loading my chest onto a ship called 'The Fleur de mal'."

The human looked faintly horrified. "'The Fleur de mal' is due to arrive in Bremen. Are you _certain_ it was your chest you saw being loaded onto it, and not simply another with a similar appearance?"

"Almost positive," assured the Undertaker with a nod. "Big black trunk with silver trimming, about yay high and yay long." He demonstrated the dimensions with his arms. "My old eyes aren't what they used to be, but it certainly _looked_ like my trunk." He wrung his hands, seeming distressed. "Oh dear, Bremin…that's in Germany, isn't it?"

The Wharf master nodded. "A far cry from Belgium, I'd say."

"Indeed," agreed the reaper. He sighed. "Well, whether it's being loaded onto that ship or not, somewhere on these docks there is a dead body about to be illegally transported. Imagine the questions that will arise! Not good for business, I'm afraid…for me _or_ for you, chap."

The Wharf master paled. "Do you have any documentation listing your goods and their destination? I need some proof, before I call for a cargo inspection."

"Oh, absolutely," assured Khronos. He dug out the envelope with the forged documentation he'd created, and he handed it over. "See for yourself, good fellow."

The human took the envelope and opened it up to read over the paperwork carefully. Khronos waited in silence, confident that he'd filled it out to perfection. After a moment, the Wharf master nodded and sighed, replacing the document in the envelope to hand it back over. "What a nightmare. Just wait here if you please, and I'll have my people look into it. If the…cargo is found, they will bring it here to my office."

The Undertaker smiled and pressed his hands together in a gesture of gratitude, his long black nails tapping against one another. "Ta. Oh, and I would prefer you have the trunk sent quietly back to my mortuary, rather than wait here for it. In fact…" He replaced the envelope and dug through his robes for a money pouch, which he offered to the man. "Don't even mention seeing or speaking with me. Take this for your trouble. That should be more than enough , and if anyone asks, tell them you got word of some stolen goods being transported in a trunk matching that description. I have a reputation to protect, you know, and I'm sure you wouldn't want it to be known that you nearly allowed a body to be illegally shipped overseas."

The man opened the money pouch, and his eyes widened a bit. Of course, any intention of blackmail was blown away by the fact that he would be called into question too, and his career jeopardized as a result. "This is very generous compensation. I'll see to it that it's done as discreetly as possible, should we find the missing…cargo."

Undertaker resisted a giggle at the man's obvious reluctance to just say "body". He bowed to him, hardly minding the loss of coin and currency. He only accepted money for his services to take care of basic needs, supplies and maintenance. The rest he squirreled away and either donated to charity—a thing he'd rather not be made known public—or spoiled himself on occasion when it built up. Entertainment would always be his primary method of payment.

"Thank you, good sir." He tipped his hat to him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to my shop. You can find me in the book when you have anything to report. Toodles!"

He left then, and as soon as he was outside he found a building to go behind so that he could cloak himself once more. "That ought to put a kink in their plans," he said with a mischievous grin. It might not stop them given how sneaky Wundt had proven to be, but it would certainly delay their departure and buy him more time.

Now he just needed to find a raven to deliver word to the one ally he knew he had in this.

~xox~

"What in Hell are you blabbing about? I have no such trunk in my possession! I picked up nothing from a coffin shop." Lloyd looked confused and inconvenienced at the harbormaster. "Look, you are delaying our departure. What will it take to make you go away and this ship on its way?"

"Please stand back and allow us to inspect your baggage, sir," said the harbormaster with as much calm as he could muster. It couldn't have been easy for him, given the intimidating presence of the man he was delaying. "There has been a disturbing report that we must investigate. I believe there may have been a mix-up and I can't allow this ship to leave these docks until the matter is resolved. I apologize for the inconvenience, but your cooperation will expedite the departure of your vessel. Resist and you'll only be putting yourself further off schedule."

~xox~

While the harbormaster argued with Grell's captor, his lover was off in the wooded area speaking to a raven he'd summoned down from the trees. The Undertaker stroked the bird's beak and spoke in a low voice to it, using the language of the death gods. Ravens were symbolic of death, and they were one of the few mortal animals that could traverse both the mortal plane and the Shinigami one.

"Carry this message to Mr. Ronald Knox, my feathered friend. Be sure he gets all of it, and find me when you've finished to give me his answer."

He whispered the message to the raven, and he lifted his arm to prompt its flight. "Now go."

The raven called out in response and took off, its wings flapping busily. Khronos watched it for a moment, before turning back to the docks. He just hoped that Knox would have the sense to follow his directions and resist acting on impulse. This was one time where cooler heads could definitely prevail.

~xox~

Lloyd ran his hand through his hair. Sighing in defeat he replied calmly. "Fine. Follow me. I will take you to my cabin first. But I ask that you be quiet. My wife is asleep. She is with child and has been very sick. I don't want her upset with men rummaging through our cabin. With luck, she will remain asleep."

Garrison the cunning fox that he was, was well prepared for such a set back. Though he feigned being upset. A rueful smile adorned his lips as he led the way to the cabin reserved for him. He knew the old codger would try and stop the ship from sailing or just delay it, but by the time his reinforcements showed, the ship would be on its way.

Just outside the cabin door, Garrison once more cautioned the harbormaster. "Remember, quietly. Look as much as you like I only have one trunk, you will discover and it is full of our clothes. No corpses."

Grell's ears perked as he heard the door creak open. He listened intensely as the sound of male voices entered the tiny room. No longer stuffed in the trunk, he had been placed upon the bed. His hands and legs were still bound. He was now anchored in the double wide bed. Forced to face the wall with a gag in his mouth, the covers were pulled up to his chin. He had been re-drugged as he was placed in his new prison—a guarantee that if any should venture to the room, he would be to groggy to move or make a sound. But the sedative had yet to fully take effect. He was fighting it with all his might. His hearing was still very much awake, while his eyes were sealed shut and the rest of his body already asleep. He longed to make a sound or a movement. Anything to get the attention of the other man, who was… searching the room? A tiny tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.

The harbormaster looked at the figure lying covered up in the bed, unable to see more than a head of long, unusually red hair. There was a slight twitch and a muffled sound, but aside from that the woman didn't stir. He went to the trunk as quietly as he could, and he opened it. Just as Mr. Garrison said, it was full of clothing. He rummaged through it a bit and found nothing out of the ordinary.

Feeling foolish for listening to that odd old funeral director, he shut the trunk and approached the passenger and his dark-haired companions. "Thank you very much for your cooperation. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. I'll let the captain know he's free to leave port at any time."

"Thank you. We would appreciate that." Lloyd took the man's proffered hand, shaking it. A warm smile upon his face as the two men started to climb the stairs back up to the main deck.

In the bed the sedative taking over the redhead, drawing him into unconsciousness as he listened to the two men exiting the cabin. The visitor having not bothered the supposed sleeping passenger. Inside his heart was sinking, his hope flying through the tiny port hole just above his red head.

~xox~

"Mustard."

Ronald looked around with a puzzled expression on his face, and he glanced at the raven that had landed and perched itself on the windowsill of his flat. The bird peered back at him with beady black eyes, tilting its head. The party-loving young reaper grimaced at the animal, shaking his head.

"Must be hearing things." Stress could do that; make someone imagine things like strange birds asking for mustard at strange hours of the day…couldn't it? He was overworked, after all.

"Mustard…seed!"

He'd just been about to pull his head back in and get ready for another shift when he heard the animal squawk that. Ronald paused and poked his head out the window, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. William had been known to use pigeons to relay messages before, but he never would have used a raven.

"I just know I'm gonna regret asking this; but did ya just talk to me?"

The bird looked at him with cunning and intelligence that was quite unusual for its kind—even in the Shinigami realm. "Listen carefully," it said. "Your mentor has been kidnapped, and I'm the only one that knows about it. Sorry to say this old reaper might need a hand, and you're the only bloke I think I can trust in Dispatch to give it to me. Come to this ship, if you can."

The raven parted with the information concerning the ship and its destination. "Don't involve Dispatch," it reminded once finished. "You know yourself they can't be trusted until the good doctor is exposed."

Ronald stared at the raven, his mouth still agape at the flawless recital. "B-but then who should I—" sputtered the blond, and the raven interrupted him.

"You're probably asking questions by now, but that won't do you a bit of good. You see, this is simply a relay of messages between us. The only thing this creature will understand and convey from you is a simple answer. Will you come or not?"

There was really only one right answer for Ronald, confused though he was. "Well, yeah! I'm not gonna let my Senpai get…hey, where are you going?"

He called out to the raven in protest as it flapped away from his window, but then it occurred to him that it was carrying his answer to the Undertaker. The blond sighed and combed his fingers through his hair.

"If the Undertaker needs help, it must be pretty bad," he reasoned. He looked up at the sky. "I may not be enough. Man, why'd this have to get so complicated?"

There was one option he could try; one that might actually take Grell's kidnappers by surprise. Reapers did not team up with demons as a rule, but he could think of at least _one_ of the latter he might be able to employ in this.

"I'm never going to get a promotion," grumbled Ronald, even as he began to concentrate on opening a portal to the location of the Phantomhive estate.

~xox~

A tall, dark, slender silhouette stood glaring down at the reaper, who stood before the great doors of the Phantomhive Estate. With a dash of annoyance and curiosity, Sebastian's brow rose and he inquired: "Mister Knox, whatever do we owe to this unexpected visit? Are you lost? If you are searching for Mister Sutcliff, I am happy to say he is not here… nor has he been here in sometime. I suggest you inquire as to his whereabouts someplace else."

Ronald shook his head. "No, I'm not here about Sutcliff Senpai. Well, I am, but it's not what you think. I need to speak with you and the kid. It involves the Undertaker."

Sebastian's eyebrow twitched at the mention of the Undertaker. "And you believe this interests my master? I am afraid neither one of us could care less as to what happens to the mortician. He has caused nothing but headaches for my young lord."

"Yeah, join the party," grunted Ronald, scratching his head. "But I don't believe the kid doesn't care about the old fart. He might be a trouble maker, but he's done business with the family for generations, right? He's never hurt the kid either, even though he could have. Okay, he skewered _you_, but that was because ya plan on eating Ciel's soul. I don't think he likes that too much. As a matter of fact, I'd swear the Undertaker is protective of the Earl, in his own messed up way. He's kind of like the funny uncle, right? And like I said; he's been just as helpful to you and your master as he's been a hassle. Let me talk to the kid, at least. If the Undertaker goes down, he's going to lose one of his best informants and that means you'll be on the hunt for his revenge for longer…which means you'll have to wait longer to chow down on him."

"I can assure you Mister Knox, it matters not if the Undertaker is around. I will consume the young master's soul sooner or later. We do not depend upon the, 'old fart' as you put it. He is irrelevant in this case. He serves only the purpose of helping us with minor crime solving. If he were to be removed from the equation, we would still be able to continue. Now, I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here. Without a more substantial reason… I must bid you good day." The crow tilted his head in farewell, eyes shut as he began to close the door on the blond reaper.

Not one to give up so easily, Ronald wedged his foot in the door to prevent it from closing. "Not so fast, Jeeves. I'm not going anywhere 'till I get to talk to your master myself. I don't think he'd appreciate finding out you spoke for him without consulting him, if I had to guess."

"When it comes to the Mad Hatter, he could care less. He has no desire to help the traitor. Now, do be a good fellow and leave before I am forced to make you leave." Sebastian snarled as he once more tried to force the door shut on the reaper, without violence becoming an issue. Though his patience was growing thin. There were greater matters at stake and neither he or his young lord had time for reaper games.

"Not…gonna…happen," grunted Ronald stubbornly, refusing to let him close the door. The wood creaked and it began to crack from the force of two opposing supernaturals pitting their strength against each other on it.

"Sebastian, what are you doing?"

Ronald sighed with relief at the sound of the young Earl's voice, and he called out to him before his pet demon could respond. "Your butler's trying to keep stuff from ya. Who wears the pants in your relationship; you or him?"

Ciel approached to peek out from behind Sebastian's lean form, frowning up at the blond. "Your inappropriate reference aside, I am the master here. Tell me what this is about and be quick with it. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon."

Ronald let go of the door and he smirked at the scowl on Sebastian's handsome face. "I was telling your carrion bird here that your funny uncle could be in for some trouble. Like it or not, the Undertaker has saved your ass more than once before, and—"

"The Undertaker placed me directly in danger on more than one occasion, too," interrupted Ciel coldly. "His usefulness has started to wane, of late."

Ronald grimaced. "Maybe so, but trust me when I say he could be the only thing standing between you and a fate worse than death, some day." He glanced pointedly at the butler.

Ciel shrugged, looking up at his servant. "I made a bargain, and I'm prepared to honor my part of it and relinquish my soul to Sebastian, when the terms have been met. It isn't the Undertaker's place to 'save me', if he's even interested in doing so. I'm curious, however. What sort of trouble could the old lunatic possibly get into that would require our intervention?"

"The kind involving a sadistic reaper doctor and his goons," explained Ronald. "The cagey bastard's people kidnapped Sutcliff Senpai and the Undertaker is going after them. I don't think he's thinking very clearly and Wundt is like a genius or something."

"Since when does the Undertaker ever think clearly?" Ciel shared a smirk with Sebastian. "At any rate, what does this have to do with us? If he gets himself caught trying to rescue that red pervert, it's no affair of mine."

"You'll lose one of your best informants," reminded Ronald, "and from what I hear, Undertaker was pretty tight with your parents. Look, I'm not asking you to put yourself out too much. I don't expect you to give a toss what happens to Grell, but I think you'll regret it if something happens to the Undertaker that you could have helped stop. He could have answers you've been looking for…ever think of that?"

"Yet he's chosen not to share any of those answers with me." Ciel lowered his gaze in thought. "But then, getting answers of any sort from that man is like fitting together the pieces of a puzzle."

He sighed, and he looked up at the blond. "If I send my butler with you, there will be conditions."

"Totally expected that," agreed Ronald with a nod.

Ciel looked at his demon companion. "Sebastian, go with the reaper and assess the situation. Inform the Undertaker that if he wants your assistance, he must agree not only to resume his duties as my informant free of cost, but never to raise his hand against us again. If he finds those terms not to his liking, you are free to leave him and his associates to deal with their problem on their own."

"Is this an order, my lord?" The crow looked down upon his young charge and inquired. For this, he wanted an order. He would not set one foot in the direction of the casket creeper, if the command was not an official one. He was wary of dealing with the Undertaker's antics and longed to distance the reaper from his meal.

Ciel nodded and lifted his eye patch to reveal the demon brand. "Yes, this is an order." The brand lit up and Ronald smirked at the subtle expression of frustration on the demon's face.

"Well, we'd best get moving," said the reaper. "The ship's probably already going out to sea and I don't know how long the old fossil's going to wait for help to come."

Sebastian turned to his master. Covering his heart with his right hand, the butler closed his eyes and bowed. "Yes, my lord," he acquiesced.

As he stood up, Sebastian straightened his coat and adjusted his gloves. With a look of disdain he spoke to the blond. "I will come as my master has ordered. You will fill me in on what has occurred as we go. And I warn you, reaper; do not get in my way. I will do what I must, so long as the Undertaker agrees to his part. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," sighed Ronald. Why did _he_ always end up being the errand boy? Concern for his elder was the only thing keeping him from throwing his hands up and telling the Undertaker to take care of his own problems. He summoned a portal and he waited for his demon companion to step through, before following himself.

~xox~

As Ronald had attuned himself to the Undertaker's location, they arrived in the cargo hold of the ship carrying Grell and his captors. He gave a yelp when he stepped out of the portal and found himself staring down the length of a curved scythe blade. He could see the greenish-gold gleam of its owner's eyes beneath the white fringe of bangs partially masking them, and he had time to notice that the Undertaker had put aside his hat and robes for the occasion. He was now wearing only the inner layer of his garments, composed of the long black shirt, tight pants and buckle-laden thigh-high boots.

He could see why his mentor was so enamored with the old reaper, even if he wasn't Ron's type. "Whoa, hold it," protested the blond. "It's just me! I brought—"

"Ah, Mr. Michaelis," interrupted the mortician with a broad grin. He withdrew his scythe and grabbed one of Sebastian's gloved hands, shaking it in welcome. "It's been a spell, hasn't it? How fairs the little lord?"

"The young Master fairs quite well, thank you. He has ordered me to assist you any way that I can so long as you agree and abide by a few simple terms." Sebastian smiled as he bowed his head to the ancient reaper. "However, I am not sure you will take to them as you are a fickle being. Though if you refuse, I can not assist you in saving your…."

Sebastian smiled wickedly as he looked upon the ancient reaper. "I am not sure as to what the nature of your relationship is with Mister Sutcliff. I assume it is of a romantic nature?"

The Undertaker barely blinked. "You'd assume right, butler. The title you're looking for is my lady love. Not that it matters, really. Name your terms, and let the fun begin!"

"Oh boy," grumbled Ronald. He loved to party as much as the next guy, but with the Undertaker? At least he could halfway predict Grell.

Wasting no more time, Sebastian spoke. Laying down the stipulations of the agreement. "For my cooperation you must abide by the terms my young master as set forth. One, you are to resume your duties as informant to the Phantomhives. Two, you will do this free of charge. No more payments. You will help as needed and provide us with all information, pertaining to any case we seek your assistance. And lastly, you are not to harm any member of the Phantomhive estate. This includes all servants and members of the Phantomhive family. This means that if at anytime you see my young master in harms way… you will assist in protecting him and all member of his household."

The demon eyed the ancient as he adjusted his gloves. "Are we in agreement?"

The Undertaker sighed. "Well, that's downright boring…but in the interest of getting my rose back…"

He grinned and nodded. "I agree to those terms, Mr. Michaelis." He rubbed his pale hands together eagerly. "Shall we begin, then?"

"By all means, What precisely did you have in mind? And may I inquire, rose?" Sebastian chuckled, "Do not tell me that is the pet name you have given Mister Sutcliff?"

"That's what my dear Grell reminds me of," answered the silver reaper with a shrug. "A delicate flower, but one with thorns that can sting. I can wax poetic later, once I have him safely liberated from his captors. I should warn both of you now that we're dealing with an older reaper; not your run of the mill sort. I could sense his aura of power and he isn't likely to be a pushover. He has at least one ally with him. If they reach their destination, odds are that 'doctor' will get his hands on him again and what he intends for him doesn't bear thought."

Ronald's nose crinkled. "You don't think you could have taken on these guys by yourself?" As a former recipient of the Undertaker's prowess in combat, he found it difficult to imagine the man needing help.

"I'm not willing to take the chance," explained the Undertaker. "Not with Grell's safety at stake." He grinned and spread his hands. "See how I've grown?"

"The 'doctor'? Who is he, if I might ask?" Sebastian asked curiously. Unaware of a doctor and who he could possibly be. "And the reaper you sense? An ancient, like yourself?"

Sebastian began to wonder just what he had agreed to. Here he was on a boat, in the English channel, with two reapers. A supposed third imprisoned and two more he knew nothing about. He could have just walked into his own trap, unbeknownst.

"One more question, if I may? Am I the intended prey? You have not set me up to ensnare me, have you?"

"My, that's a slew of questions, Mr. Michaelis. To answer the first one, the doctor's name is Wundt, and the last time he had Grell in custody he did things to him that I can't discuss with you. As for the reaper in charge of this kidnapping, I doubt he's as old as yours truly, but he probably comes close. I didn't recognize him myself, but then I was standing several yards away and I practically have to be standing on top of someone to make out the fine details of their facial features."

Undertaker scratched his chin and grinned. "And on the subject of whether this is all an elaborate scheme to separate you from your ward and rid him of you…why, I would have already found a way to do that by now, if that was my intention. Aren't you the paranoid little fiend?" He chuckled, but then he sobered and tilted his head, his bangs falling aside to reveal his vivid eyes. "You are here because Mr. Knox had the good sense to come and seek your aid. I didn't even ask him to; your appearance on this ship was an unexpected surprise to me. The more the merrier, though. With the three of us working together, I doubt Grell will be in the clutches of his abductors for very long."

"And what are ya gonna do once we free him?" Ronald asked. "Obviously your place isn't as secure as ya thought, if they could get to him there."

"True," sighed the mortician. He dragged his nails through his hair and frowned. "I believe they used hypnosis to lure him out; which means that he isn't safe anywhere in London. If I'm to keep him safe from this quack, I'm going to have to take Grell somewhere far away. I'll tie him to me to keep this from happening again if I have to, but until Wundt is dealt with, I'm afraid we're going to have to vanish for a while. Nobody can know where we go, Knox—not even you."

The younger reaper stared at him as if he thought he was joking, and then he swore in anger and kicked the side of a crate. "That's it…when you're ready to go after Wundt, I want ya to take me with you. That bastard is gonna pay for what he's done!"

The Undertaker nodded. "Indeed, my dear…indeed. We'll have our fun with him later. Right now, let's just worry about freeing your Senpai and taking care of the nasties that abducted him, shall we?"

Ronald sighed and nodded, reigning in his temper with difficulty. "Okay, let's talk plans."

~xox~

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

_~So you dare to bring other reapers and a demon to come after me and my cargo, old friend. We shall see about this. I bested you once, Khronos. I will do it again.~_

Garrison watched hidden in the bow of the ship along with the ancient, the junior and the demon. He had sensed the old fool the moment he materialized on the ship. Seeking him out, he had discovered the retired reaper huddled in the cargo bay. Now, cloaked by an ancient Shinigami spell, he stood watching and listening to the conversation between the three misfits. A wide grin carved across his mouth. His eyes glowing from his hiding spot, like a wolf on the hunt. Yes, this time he would kill the ancient, rather than show mercy and allow him to live.

"I am afraid I haven't the slightest clue as to what is going on and why you need my help in freeing Sutcliff. And do you or do you not have a plan for doing so?" Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes on the silver-haired reaper. "Also, you did not answer my prior inquiry. Is the reaper you sensed an ancient? He could be more problematic, if he is."

"Clean the wax out of your ears, chap," answered the Undertaker, "I just told you he's old, but I didn't walk right up and ask him his exact age. There aren't many ancients left, you understand, so the odds of Wundt employing one of them are about six feet under."

"Well how many ancients are left?" Ronald inquired, looking around to get his bearings. "I mean, there had to be a few besides yourself, right? Maybe there's more left than you thought."

The mortician shook his head. "It's all on record, my boy. They've kept up with all the originals since the beginning, marking names off as they perished. I was the first, and then there was Lawrence Anderson from the Glasses Division—"

"Pops?" interrupted Ronald, surprised. "Pops is an ancient?"

Undertaker smirked. "Was there really any doubt? When he retired from the business of reaping, he chose to be transferred and he's been there ever since. Now, where was I? There were two more left the last time I checked, besides yours truly and Mr. Anderson. One was Moira and the other…hmm, the other…"

The mortician traced the scar around his throat, then the one slashing over his face. "He gave me these scars, but I've quite forgotten the clotpole's name. Isn't that funny?"

Ronald was about to comment, but he went still and frowned, staring up into the shadows. The Undertaker turned to follow his gaze, squinting. "What's the trouble, Knox?"

The blond blinked and shook his head. "Thought I saw something up there. I guess it was just a rat."

The Undertaker moved in front of him, holding his death scythe ready as he reached out with his senses. "Keep your wits sharp," he cautioned his companions. "I caused a bit of trouble for the kidnappers at the docks and delayed the ship. Chances are whoever they are, they've got a description of me and I can't promise nobody spotted me, during the brief time I was uncloaked at the harbor. Wouldn't surprise me if the two of them are taking patrols through the ship to be sure I'm not sneaking about."

"Pardon me, but aren't ancients able to do things modern reapers are not capable of?" Sebastian asked. "Being that you are purest in form and the originals. Not created from the dead as modern reapers are. As well as pure-bloods, despite sharing your blood line. Which if my hunch is correct, we might be spied on as we stand around talking. We need to find Sutcliff and get off this boat. I may be as old as you reapers, but ancients are not ones I care to dance with. I know how you came about and…" Sebastian smirked, "Let us just say; I would rather kiss Mister Knox here, than to go up against said reapers."

"Please don't," begged Ronald with a smirk.

"Some of us have learned a few extra tricks over the years," confirmed the Undertaker, "and we do have some innate abilities that skipped the later generations."

He curled his fingers and inspected his long, black nails. "Some of us have specific features that set us apart from other reapers, like my nails. I'm not sure why, but I was the only one created with black ones like these. As I said before, I don't know for certain that the reaper I suspect is in charge is an ancient or simply very old. I'm in complete agreement with you though; we need to find Grell and exit stage left. His safety matters more than my desire to avenge what they did to him."

"Then let's get moving," prompted Ronald. "What the hell are we waiting for?"

Undertaker nodded. "Right. Mr. Michaelis, I know you have ways of cloaking yourself from detection. I'd suggest you do it like Ronald and I before we head up."

Smiling wickedly, the demon began to dematerialize into a shadow. His voice a whisper like the wind. "Gentlemen, one would assume Mister Sutcliff is being kept somewhere safe. We shall meet in the kitchen in one hour's time, with or without him. That is if we become separated in our search, but let us try and stick together. It is far to dangerous to separate. However I can move faster this way. Should I go on ahead of you?"

"Might be useful," agreed the Undertaker with a nod. He turned to Ronald. "You stay close to me, Mustard Seed. I don't fancy the reception I'll get from Grell if something happens to you that I might have prevented. I've already searched through the cargo hold, so we should start with the residential areas and work our way up."

"Sounds good to me." Ronald shrugged and cloaked himself, and the Undertaker followed suit. Sebastian was already up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

~xox~

Fading into a mist, like a fog wafting through the bows of the cargo ship, Garrison vanished and drifted about the small clipper. He rematerialized in his cabin once he arrived within the safety of its walls. Slowly, he withdrew the blankets covering the redhead. His eyes skimmed the curve of Grell's body as he lay still bound and gagged.

"I know you are awake, young one. You have friends looking for you." He gently ran his fingers along Grell's side where it dipped from his position. "But they will not find you. Grell Sutcliff is going to disappear. That old badger will not be able to sense you, nor the demon of old. And if you do not cooperate, I will make 'the green one' bleed his records before you."

Grell shivered from the man's touch. It was similar to Wundt's. He squeezed his eyes tightly, until he heard the man threaten to kill one of them. One of the three who came to rescue him. He turned his head. His eyes met those of the reaper, looming over him. They enlarged.

_~No.~_

~xox~

Undertaker crept through the ship with Ronald close by, checking one room after the other. He couldn't be sure what sort of accommodations Grell's kidnappers would have chosen, so they had to search all of them and leave no room unexplored. He wouldn't have picked the boy out as someone that got easily flustered with his outgoing personality, but Ronnie's face was cherry bright after they intruded on the two fellows enjoying a romp together in cabin C-8. To his credit, the younger reaper held his tongue and didn't blurt any shocked exclamations to give them away. Undertaker might have snickered at him, if he weren't so worried about Grell.

There didn't appear to be other passengers on the ship so far, though there were twenty cabins available for boarding. As they reached the halfway mark of the accommodation deck, the Undertaker noticed an increasingly bothered look on Ronald's face. He paused in an empty room and faced the young man, feeling safe to whisper an inquiry to him without alerting any mortals to their presence.

"What's the trouble, chap? You're looking a bit green. You aren't getting seasick on me, are you?"

Ronald shook his head. "No way. It's just…walking in on those people made me think something that I wish I could unthink."

"And what's that?"

Ronald looked at him with a dreading expression. "What if one of those guys that kidnapped Senpai is doing something like that to him?"

The Undertaker's expression darkened. "If they are, then their cocks are forfeit just like their lives. Worry about finding him for now, and we'll deal with the rest afterwards."

Ronald shivered. "I sure hope Sebastian is having better luck than we are."

~xox~

A formless shadow lurked behind the two reapers, unsuspected. Had he been a form he would have grinned, instead he waited for the right moment to strike. The blond on his left. The ancient on his right. They were talking about reaper lore. Nothing he hadn't heard before. Still searching for the redhead without any clue as to his whereabouts. The ancient was agitated. It permeated from his aura. The young one was nervous. He smelled of sweat. Perspiring more than usual. Most likely anxious and desperate to find his mentor.

Yes, his mentor. Hard to believe that Grell Sutcliff could be anyone's mentor. He was reckless and fickle. The reaper had made a name for himself, but it was not the kind of name one should be proud of. One could assume he had shamed his brethren. After all, reapers were not to commit murders, but collect the souls of the victims of murder, along with any other mortal death.

The redhead disregarded his position and played with a mortal, causing chaos amongst the mortal realm. A case closed some years prior. Still he was unhinged. At anytime, it was possible he could slip back into his previous habits of blood and lust. Yet for some odd reason, the ancient had taken a liking to this murdering, '_Death God'_. Grell was dear to him.

_~How odd these immortal beings are.~ _Pondered the demon butler as he watched the two reapers before him open and close a door. That only lead to a storage closet.

_~Should I reveal myself yet? The ancient does not seem to have noticed I am standing behind him. Though it is more tempting to repay him for the times I have had to humiliate myself to gain information from him. Perhaps a little sport might be enjoyable. However, he is quite distraught at the loss of his lover and though Grell is unhinged, Undertaker is equally as such. Another time, then~_

The smell of sulfur began to waft through the tight corridor. Black feathers appearing to rain down from nowhere. Glowing orbs of fire levitated behind the reapers.

"I know where he was kept." A deep voice said. Sebastian's normal British tone yet to return.

Undertaker turned to the butler. "Where he 'was' kept?" inquired the mortician.

They were being watched. He kept his senses alert, but he didn't say anything to his companions just yet. He hadn't pinpointed the source yet and it might drive the eavesdropper off if he said anything aloud. Showing any sign that he was aware of the presence might spoil his chance to hone in on it, and he was confident that it knew exactly where Grell was.

"As in he's not there anymore?" Ronald asked, his brow crinkling. He went a little pale as it occurred to him that Sebastian might not just be referring to Grell not physically being there anymore. "Don't tell me he's dead…"

Turning to the blond, Sebastian inclined his head. "Yes. He is no longer there. As for him passing. I cannot say. He is just simply not in the cabin. His aura was warm, so I believe he was only recently removed. Perhaps another location on the ship. Though there was another trace of an aura in the room. An odd aura. It was ancient. I had not sensed it on the ship before."

Sebastian turned his attention to the Undertaker. "One can assume the reaper you said you might have acquaintance with, is indeed like yourself. He is cloaking himself from us and therefore is going to make tracking him down even harder, but I do not believe he has left the ship. Which means Sutcliff has to still be here as well."

The mortician nodded, feeling a small measure of relief. Sebastian's assessment that the aura was ancient and new to him made the Undertaker ponder the nature of his opponent. He'd seen two reapers getting ready to board the ship, but the second one seemed to have left the ship or perhaps he didn't get on with the taller fellow at all. If that were true, they only faced one opponent…but that didn't necessarily mean their task would be any easier. This fellow—whoever he was—had managed to mask himself from them almost completely. Undertaker himself could do the same trick when he needed to hide his presence from Dispatch, but average reapers could not pull it off. That meant they likely were facing an ancient…one of the first generation of reapers, created from nothingness rather than resurrected from death.

"Stay on your toes," he advised his companions as he mentally reviewed the remaining ancients that he knew about. He could only think of one that might have it in for him. He counted Anderson amongst his few friends, and the other one probably didn't care enough about him to bother. He couldn't imagine them having anything to do with Wundt either, so that left the fellow that disfigured him so long ago…one of the only reapers to walk away from the fight when they'd come to take his scythe from him.

~xox~

"My love, isn't it a lovely evening? Look at the stars. They are so beautiful," said a beautiful blonde woman, with soft curls framing her face and skin like porcelain.

She stood at the ships edge, looking out over the English channel. Her husband standing next to her. She wore an evening dress made of the finest silks in the shade of palest blue. Her hair was braided and wrapped atop her head. White lace gloves fitted snugly on her hands as she held tight to the ships railing. She was beaming, captivated by the delights of the night sky.

"They sparkle so brilliantly. Like a field of diamonds. Don't you agree?" She asked, her face illuminated by the starlight.

"Yes, my precious. A sky full of diamonds for my bride. If only I could pluck them from the Heavens to adorn your lovely neck." He replied, his arm around her waist and his hand coming to rest upon her hip.

~xox~

The trio, having decided not to split apart again, searched each of the crewmen quarters to no avail. Every stock room and broom closet. The kitchen. Even the cargo bay once more. Grell's aura had faded and the scent was growing cold. Sebastian could sense the unease rolling off the ancient reaper. He was sure though that Grell had to still be aboard the ship. No life boats had been cast and if a reaper had portaled off the ship, there would have been traces. No, Grell was still aboard.

There were a few passengers scattered about the ship as was custom for some cargo ships to allow passengers to travel aboard. The accommodations, however, were lacking and not designed for comfort. Only the brave or desperate used cargo ships for transportation. And as in the case of Grell's abductors, this was the perfect way to cross the channel and into Germany.

Sebastian began to study each being that crossed his path, but each one proved to be nothing more than mortal.

"Undertaker? You said initially there were two reapers aboard this ship… aside from Mister Sutcliff?" Sebastian asked, finally breaking the silence as they made their way to the main deck of the ship.

The mortician shoved his anxiety aside, and he nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Michaelis. Granted, my peepers aren't the best, but my other senses are sharper than ever and I distinctly identified two reaper auras before. The second one has curiously gone missing."

He tapped a nail against his teeth in thought. "Could be he left his fellow to deal with the rest, once they got aboard and set off."

There was a darker, more sinister possibility though. His brow furrowed beneath his bangs, and Ronald noticed the pensive look on his face.

"Well? What else could it be?" Prompted the blond impatiently. "I've done enough overtime, geezer. If you've got another idea, spit it out!"

Undertaker shushed him with a wave of his hand. "In time, my dear. In time. I'm thinking on something. Some elders tried to merge with demons, and that was their downfall. There's a possibility that one of the reapers might have eaten the other one, and that's why I'm not sensing his aura anymore."

He shrugged and grinned. "But the possibility of that is mightily thin. Demons can't typically dine on our souls as it is. I can't imagine a reaper-demon hybrid being much different."

"So the other guy bailed," reasoned Ronald, spreading his hands. "What difference does it make right now? We've still got to find Senpai and his aura is fading away! The penguin here says he thinks he's still on-board, so I say we keep looking!"

Sebastian's right brow rose as he tilted his head and looked at the blond. "Penguin? I can't say I have heard that one before Mister Knox."

Sebastian cleared his throat as he addressed the ancient once more. "As I said: yes, I do believe the fiery one is still amongst us. How? I am unsure. Thus far, every being that has crossed our path, appears to be mortal. If there are more reapers on board, they also are untraceable. I urge caution, gentlemen. I have a very bad feeling about this voyage."

The Undertaker slapped Ronald smartly on the back. "I'll imitate your dear Willy here and caution you…"'Do behave, Ronald Knox! We must be proper!'"

That said, he sobered a bit and regarded Sebastian. "Grell is here. His aura is a bit on the smudged side, but I can feel it. I believe you're right, my reluctant raven, and the enemy has somehow managed to hide him from our sight. Ronald!"

The younger reaper barked in surprise, immediately blushing at the reference to his superior. "Uh, yeah?"

"You know your mentor better than most, and you know his tricks." Undertaker loomed over the uncomfortable young man, poking him in the chest with his long fingernails. "I want you to keep an exceptionally sharp eye out, boy. He could be right beneath us. If he's had his free will compromised as it was when he left my shop, he may very well have disguised himself unwittingly. Understand, boy?"

Ronald pushed the poking fingers away from his chest uncomfortably. "Yeah, I get it. Jeez, would you stop that? I want to find Senpai as much as you do!"

The Undertaker backed off, sobering. "Sorry lad. I just want to find our dear Grell, is all."

Ronald relaxed a bit and ran his fingers through his hair. "That's okay. I'll have a closer look around, old man."

The demon pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Gentlemen, we are getting nowhere. We know what we are dealing with. So shall we get a move on? The main deck awaits."

~xox~

"Charles? What is Germany like? Will I love it? Will your parents accept me? I am scared and excited all at once. I can barely contain myself. What if I forget myself and make a fool of myself before them? What if they are angry with you for having not mentioned your marriage to an English woman? I am afraid they will be displeased with us. I can't bare it." The blonde woman rambled nervously, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

"My darling, Celeste." He softly called her name.

His arms slipped around her waist. He pulled her into a warm embrace as he tried to calm her fears by replying in a lover's tender voice. "Fear not, my precious. My parents shall adore you. You are like warm sunshine when you smile. And therefore you will warm their hearts as you have mine, since the day I laid eyes on you. Do you remember that day, Celeste?"

She beamed up at him, her hands on his shoulders resting delicately. "Yes. I was reading by the brook. Just outside my father's land. You were watering your horse. You had knelt down to have a drink, yourself. I heard your horse nay and when I looked up… you looked up at that moment as well. Our eyes met and…"

She giggled, covering her mouth. "You fell in."

"I lost my balance, because I was not expecting to find a precious jewel sitting on the other side of the bank. Hidden under an old Willow Tree, no less. I was rather dumbstruck in that moment. I had never seen someone so beautiful in all my life."

"You flatter me. I am no jewel. Just a plain maiden… with lots of money." She teased.

Charles frowned down at her, before lowering his head to kiss her.

~xox~

As promised, Ronald began to examine every human he came across with extra care. He'd convinced the Undertaker to split up, reasoning that the three of them could cover more space in their search if they went separate ways. It was kind of funny to be treated in such a paternal manner by the eccentric old kook—but he supposed it was just proof of how much the Undertaker truly cared for his senpai. When he thought about it, it was mildly flattering, really. The man was a living legend among their kind, and here he was entrusting Ronald Knox with a task that obviously meant so much to him…while trying to protect him at the same time.

"I'll bet you'd be proud of him, Senpai," muttered the blond as he wandered around on the main deck, checking out every mortal he saw. "Guess he really loves you. Where the hell are you, though? What did they do to you?"

He started to feel a little sick to his stomach at the possibilities. How could anyone not only overcome his mentor, but hide him so damned completely from both an ancient and a powerful demon? What were they dealing with, here?

He started to pass by a kissing couple, when the voice and words of the young woman gave him pause.

_"You flatter me. I am no jewel. Just a plain maiden…with lots of money."_

He recognized that voice and the teasing tone immediately.

_~Senpai!~_

He stopped and stared at the couple, wide-eyed. He couldn't see the gentleman's face because his back was turned to him, but he was tall and dressed in a fashionably dandy way. The "lady" pulled away slightly as they broke the kiss, and though her coiled blond hair was the wrong color, her teeth appeared perfectly normal and her eyes were a shade of blue, he recognized that smile and that face immediately.

Of course, Ronald Knox had a deplorably impulsive nature, so keeping his mouth shut was nigh impossible. In fact, the sight of this stranger being so intimately familiar with his obviously brainwashed mentor was enough to make him see red, and he didn't even stop to think before acting.

"Hey, get off of him, fuck-face!"

Ronald launched himself nimbly at the man taking liberties with Grell, leading with his death scythe.

The blonde screamed as she was pushed out of the way, landing hard on her side. She looked to her beloved. Watching him in horror as he fell onto his back, the blond man atop him as they rolled across the deck. The sound of a loud roar came from the contraption the blond had had in his hands, but now lay toppled over against the deck railing.

She struggled to get to her feet, getting caught in her petticoat and falling onto her stomach. She twisted her head and looked at the two men fighting. Once again trying to push herself up.

"Charles?! No! Get off him! Let him be!" Celeste yelled at the stranger as she used a barrel to help her up onto her feet. Her skirt was torn along the hemline, delicate lace dragged behind her as she stumbled toward the feuding men.

~xox~

Undertaker stopped in his tracks at the sound of Ronald's scythe roaring to life, somewhere on the other side of the ship. His stomach clenched when he heard the young reaper's vulgar challenge, and he wondered if he'd managed to get his precious rose's understudy killed by sending him out alone. Gritting his teeth at the prospect, the ancient readied his scythe and sprinted toward the sound. The black, button-up shirt he wore whipped behind him as he ran, and the crescent blade of his scythe flashed in the moonlight.

He found Ronald going at some gent he didn't recognize as if the man had insulted his mother, and there beside a barrel was a blonde woman, trying to catch her balance and intervene. He didn't think anything of it until she hollered a protest, and then his heart seemed to lodge in his throat.

"Grell," he whispered. The gentleman that Ronald had attacked seemed to recover from his initial surprise then, and the blond reaper was launched quite suddenly through the air by a kick that no mere mortal should have been able to deliver. He crashed directly into the Undertaker, spoiling his cloak against mortal vision, and they went down together in a tangle.

"Sebastian," hollered Undertaker when he could draw breath again, "This way! We've found—oof!"

Ronald's elbow dug into his solar plexus as the boy levered himself up, driving the breath from Undertaker's lungs. Before the mortician could get back to his feet, Ronald was off again. As painful as that kick must have been for him, he was entirely focused on the man that he'd seen daring to lay hands on his mentor. With a wild yell, he charged at him again, his eyes glinting with a promise of vengeance.

"What have you done to my senpai, you jerk?" The question was followed with a focused swing of his clumsy looking weapon—which Ronald wielded with shocking ease.

Deciding he couldn't wait for Sebastian if he didn't want the boy to get killed, Undertaker called forth a slew of his sotoba and hurled them at the tall man, while Ronald was still in the air. He could sense his power and he came to the chilling realization that this was indeed an ancient they were dealing with. At least the grave markers might provide enough distraction for Ronald to get a hit in, and if not, at least the mystery reaper would be forced to deflect or dodge his attack before making another against Ronald.

"Grell, love," called the Undertaker, closing in as soon as he launched the barrage of sotoba at his target, "Are you hurt?"

Celeste stared wide eyed at the silver haired figure approaching her. She began to back away, until she met the wall of the inner portion of the ship. Her eyes focused on the strange being.

Charles vanished just as the ancient, Japanese grave markers pierced the very spot he stood in. He reappeared behind the blond reaper as he landed on the deck.

"You're a foolish youngling. Do you honestly believe you can defeat me?" he growled in Ronald's ear, a dagger held at the base of his throat.

Undertaker tore his attention away from Grell, trying not to let the blank lack of recognition on Grell's features break him. He'd obviously been mentally trifled with somehow…but he couldn't let that make him lose hope, and he certainly couldn't allow the reaper responsible for it to harm or kill Ronald. He reacted with experienced instinct, not giving their opponent the chance to cut into Ronald's vulnerable throat with the dagger he'd produced. Hardly needing to aim, he launched another sotoba directly at the face of Ronald's captor, hovering just over the blond's shoulder.

"Whoa, are you nuts?" yelped Ronald as the sharp wooden stake flew at him. Undertaker's aim was perfect, however. The sotoba whistled by without so much as grazing the boy's ear.

The ancient grinned widely as the sotoba passed through his body.

"Do you honestly believe that a grave marker is going to do me harm, old man?" Charles shouted as he shoved the young reaper from him, sending Ronald down the side of the deck on his stomach.

Slowly, the man walked towards the silver-haired reaper. The dagger vanished from his hand. As he drew near the blonde woman hidden partially behind the Undertaker, he called to her.

"Celeste, dear. Are you alright? You are safe. You can come to me. This old fool has me mistaken for someone else and will do me no harm or yourself. Right, old man?"

Nervously, Celeste pushed away from the wall and cautiously began to walk to her husband. But then she paused and turned to face the older gentleman. Her eyes searched his. A burst of anger flickered across her Sapphire orbs.

"You bounder! How dare you and your friend attack my husband!" she fumed, bringing her hand up and slapping the retired reaper across the face. With that she turned and scurried to her husband's open arms, burying her face against his chest before asking. "Are you alright, my love? Are you not injured?"

"I am fine, my precious." He replied, his gaze drifting to that of the Undertaker's. "She is mine. You best understand that, old man. No other man will touch her."

Khronos stood shocked, his hand flying to his stinging cheek where the pink mark where Grell's palm had struck him. He thought he'd figured out the trick his opponent was using, but his lover's evident contempt coupled with that rueful slap knocked his forming plan right out of his skull.

"Senpai, he's not your husband!" Ronald picked himself up and yelled the denouncement hoarsely, his emotions boiling to the surface. "Your name isn't 'Celeste' and I don't know who he is, but you sure as hell aren't his wife! Undertaker's your guy, not this creep! He's done something to your mind! Snap out of it!"

Then Ronald visited Grell with the same treatment that his hypnotized mentor had given to the Undertaker: as the fake blonde turned her face to look at him, he closed the distance and slapped her across the face.

"Ronald!" Undertaker shouted the blond's name, snapping out of his painful daze somewhat.

"Don't believe me?" panted Ronald as soon as the slap was delivered, "check under your petticoats! You might be a lady but you've got something the other girls don't have! See what happens next time you take a piss!"

The Undertaker wasn't paying much attention, but he was heartened by the hesitation that flickered over Grell's features. He was concentrating on the reaper holding his love enthralled, hauntingly familiar with the trick he'd just pulled to make himself non-corporeal long enough to allow the sotoba to pass harmlessly through him. He knew how it was done, and he knew how to counter it. He just needed enough time to…to…

Oh. Time. If there was one thing he understood and could play with better than anyone else, it was time. He was just a bit out of practice. He called upon abilities he hadn't used for an age, and he began to manipulate the flow of time. Ronald's shouting slowed, his voice seeming to deepen as the alacrity of speech abandoned him. Even the air seemed to thicken, the salty breeze barely stirring the hair of the four reapers on the deck. Time began to reverse, and Ronald started talking backwards. His hand came out awkwardly and in slow motion, it swung in a reverse direction from its original course to Grell's face. The captive reaper's head turned and Ronald stepped backwards, away from his mentor and the stranger that held him.

"Reh chout lliw nam retho on," said Grell's captor, the words dragging out of him in reverse. He seemed to realize what was happening, but the Undertaker now had a firm grasp on the fabric of time and space. He alone was unaffected by the temporal anomaly he'd created, and he grinned.

"What was that, chap? Having some trouble enunciating, are you? Let's see how you do when I stop it completely, eh?"

He halted the flow of time just as Grell moved away from his captor. Maintaining his concentration, the mortician walked over to his lover and scooped him up. Grell was stiff—frozen in mid-stride at the moment he'd run to the dark-haired, tall reaper that had kidnapped him.

"Sorry, my dear," whispered Khronos with a grunt. At least he wasn't limp deadweight in his arms, but he felt like he was moving a statue made of Shinigami flesh. "I never should have let it come to this."

Eerily, he could see his frozen opponent's eyes following him as he began to carry Grell away. This was most certainly no common Shinigami, and the Undertaker had a nagging feeling that he should recognize him. Not even the oldest of those born after the originals should be able to bat an eye when he froze time like this, and yet the fellow's gaze followed his every move. He couldn't seem to move other parts of his body yet, but Khronos didn't want to take the chance that he might break free while Grell's freedom was at stake.

He created a portal, dividing his concentration just enough to make the gateway that would get him, Grell and Ronald out of there. He set Grell down before it carefully and he went to retrieve Ronald.

"Mr. Michaelis, I don't know where you are but now would be the time to fly home to your master," he called out. "I really don't have the time to wait around for you, chap…no pun intended!"

Trusting the demon to take care of himself, Undertaker grabbed Ronald and Grell around the waist and he dove through the portal—just as his hold on time slipped. He didn't need to look back to know that his opponent had broken free, and he collapsed the portal as soon as they made it through.

They were at least a hundred feet above London.

"Oh, balls," griped the mortician as he and his companions fell like rocks.

~xox~

Charles, no, Lloyd Garrison smiled broadly as he was freed from the grip of time. He had nothing to fear of the retired reaper and so he strode for the stairs leading to the cargo hold.

"So brother, you have remembered your lost talent. But I am afraid your love is no longer. And now you have lost your demon as well." He smirked as he made the descend to the bowels of the ship.

Sebastian struggled against the binds that held him. Ensnared by a demons trap, he now glared at the ancient reaper as he approached the glowing cage he was now captive of.

"I would like to know with whom I have been captured by?" he demanded, his brows pinching together.

The ancient reaper waltzed up to the cage and smiled darkly. His face blurred, then appeared to be that of a skull as he replied, "Death." And just as quickly his face returned to normal.

"And you my ancient prince, are the demon Raum." He stated as he took a seat upon a box across from the cage. "I was there at your birth you know? Funny thing how mortals came before even you. They were above your kind and your brethren. Of course back then your kind had yet to exist. It was because of man, your kind were cast from Heaven."

Annoyed, Sebastian cocked his eyebrow, "While I appreciate the history lesson, "Death", I would much rather know…. what is it you mean to do with me? I mean nothing to that biscuit loving fool, so I cannot comprehend what possible means I am to you."

"In time… In time," Garrison coyly remarked as he stood.

A portal opened in front of the cage and Garrison stepped through, disappearing before the caged raven.

~xox~

"Well, this isn't good," remarked the Undertaker as the London buildings and streets rushed towards him.

Ronald came out of his daze, and he shouted with alarm at the realization that they were about to be splattered like bugs. "H-holy shit! What the hell?"

"Don't panic," advised the mortician. "We're reapers, boy. The fall won't kill us."

"But it's sure as hell gonna hurt!" Ronald looked over at his mentor, embraced by the ancient's other arm. Grell seemed to be unconscious. "Hasn't he been through enough, old man?"

Undertaker looked at his stricken lover, his long hair whipping straight up as they fell. Yes, Grell had been through enough. He didn't want to add broken bones and bruised organs to the list of abuse he'd had to endure. "Right. Ronnie, grab hold of him. I'm going to try something."

"Oh Styx help us," despaired the blond…but he reached for Grell nonetheless, white-lipped with fear.

Undertaker's hasty plan was almost juvenile in its simplicity. He was too drained and anxious to try and warp time around them to slow their fall, so he chose a more direct and primitive method. He rolled over in the air and pulled both his companions on top of him, just as they landed on the street below. The impact was agonizing, but he broke the fall of both younger reapers and took the brunt of the damage. He felt his ribs break under the force of Ronald and Grell landing on him, and the cobbles cracked beneath him. He vaguely heard a woman scream with alarm, and it occurred to him that all three of them were quite visible to humans, right now.

The worst part of it was biting his tongue when he landed. That actually hurt more than the cracked ribs—until Grell came too and ground his knee into his groin in his efforts to get up.

"Unh…I'd prefer to be slapped again," groaned the mortician, even as he embraced his disoriented love to keep him from running off. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, and he couldn't tell if it was all from his injured tongue or if some of it had come up from his esophagus as a result of lung damage. He smiled at Grell despite his pain, marveling over how flawlessly he'd managed to disguise his natural red hair color.

"You're all right, love," coughed the Undertaker. "I…took the brunt of it. No need to keep up the act. You're safe now."

Celeste was unaware they were no longer aboard the ship. The impact had woken her from time's grip. He hair had unraveled and curtained down and around her and the Undertaker, blocking the view of the London street. The fabric of her dress torn at her shoulder. She struggled to free herself from the arms encircling her waist. Slapping at the old man, she hadn't even realized the blond fellow, who had attacked her husband, was right next to her.

"Let me go, you barbarian!" She hollered, her hand landing clear across his face again. "Charles help me!"

Her shrieking threatened to attract far too much attention from nearby mortals. Some of them had already seen the trio fall from the sky, and they were hurrying over to see what had happened. Casting a quick look their way, the Undertaker ignored the sting of the slap and he grabbed his lover's wrists to stop another one from landing.

"I know you're confused, my dear," he said, "but I can't accommodate your wishes, and 'Charles' won't be coming for you anytime soon. Knox, open us a portal to the Shinigami realm. We're going to have to take Grell to your flat for now."

"But they probably know where I live too," reasoned the blond uncertainly. "The guy that did this saw my face and he can probably track us down there just as easily as he could follow us to your place."

"Then we'll move her again as soon as we can," insisted Khronos, not even stumbling over the gender pronoun. Grell was his lady after all, regardless of gender…and right now he certainly appeared to be female in every way. Those breasts weren't just stuffing in the corset—he could see the cleavage, and he'd felt it against his chest. It shouldn't be possible that the fiend could have truly altered Grell's form this much in such a short time, but he didn't have the time right now to work out just what he'd done. The poor dear obviously believed he was this "Celeste" that his captor had dubbed him, and Ronald's earlier challenge for Grell to check his knickers for parts might actually result in the discovery of lady bits.

"Ronald, we can't linger here," urged Khronos as "Celeste" continued to struggle. People were going to see a strange tall man with sweeping silver hair manhandling an obviously gentle-born woman and draw the natural conclusion that he was assaulting her. "We don't need to stay at your place, but we sure as spit can't stay here right now. The portal!"

Ronald abandoned further argument, seeing the humans closing in with curious anxiety on their faces. "Yeah, I've gotta agree with that." He opened up the portal and he waited for Undertaker to drag his altered senpai through, before following himself. To the humans, the three of them seemed to simply vanish into thin air, and the portal closed behind them.

~xox~

Celeste's eyes were full of fear and shock as the portal opened and she was dragged through, kicking and screaming. The last thing she saw before the portal closed was a man running towards her and her captors, shouting for them to stop. Then silence. The streets of London gone. Her home. Her world.

The arm around her waist tightening as she was dragged into a strange building, a home. Where was she? Her head shot up in defiance, her eyes locking with the blond across from her.

"Cretins! Let me go! Charles will have your heads when he finds you!" she threatened, spitting and hissing like a feline in an alley fight.

She swung her leg forward and as it came back with full momentum, the heel of her shoe landed the Undertaker square in the shin.

"Bloody hell," hissed Khronos, stubbornly maintaining his hold on his altered lover as he hopped on one foot. "Darlin', I know you don't believe it right now but 'Charles' is the one trying to hurt you, not us. The elevator, Ronald…hurry!"

The boy almost looked like he wanted to cry as he pressed the button on the elevator. "She…he…someone's going to hear this."

Undertaker gave the woman in his arms a pained look, completely sympathizing with Ronald's angst. "I'm so sorry, my dear."

He employed his long unused abilities once more, creating a time flux around "Celeste" that would put her in stasis. He hated to do it, but his only other option available to him at the moment was to knock her out. This was far kinder.

~xox~

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Celeste moaned as her eyes slowly began to blink open. Her head was aching…a dull pounding, like someone knocking on her brain . Dazed and confused, she started to look around the room she was in. It was not familiar to her. As her eyes came into focus, she began to make things out. The walls were lemon yellow and a strange black box set on the top of a chest drawers in front of her. It was still dark, but there was a light on; a hurricane lamp, she assumed, burning nearby and flooding the room in warmth. The curtains on the window were blood orange. There was a sofa to her right and another chair to her left, both tan in colour. A small, rectangular table sat between the seating and bottles of liquor adorned it.

The sound of voices broke through her haze. Instantly she recognized them. The blond and the old man. Celeste tried to get up from the chair she was in, discovering she was unable to. Wide-eyed, she looked down. Metal shackles were locked around her wrists and there was a chain running around her upper arms.

Frightened, she screamed. "Help!"

Ronald jumped at the cry, nearly spilling the beer he'd liberated from his refrigerator. Hearing his mentor yell for help put his heart in his throat, and he glanced at the Undertaker before heading into the living room. The blond woman with Grell's face and voice seemed to get even more alarmed at the sight of him, and Ronald called out to him.

"Senpai, it's me!" He put his beer on the coffee table and he went to the bound woman. "Grell, please! Stop for a second and look at me. Don't you recognize me? Hey, old man…get in here and let him…her…see you!"

The mortician walked into the room, unusually somber. He approached the girl and he knelt before her, dragging his bangs out of his eyes so that he could look upon her without the veil…and in turn, she could look upon him. "I don't think she'll recognize me right now," he said, "but I can try to reach Grell."

"You said you thought you knew what was going on," accused Ronald. "What the hell did he do to him?"

"It's an illusion," answered the Undertaker. "A bloody good one, but just an illusion. Grell hasn't been physically altered; just masked. As for where the rest of him went, I'm still working that out."

He spoke to the woman, who seemed a little surprised when she saw his face. Either some part of Grell was still sentient enough to recognize him at least a little, or she was startled by how young his face was, beneath the mass of hair. Either way, she was jarred enough to quiet down for a moment. He held her gaze and he spoke gently to her. "Screaming will only hurt your throat, my dear. I've created a barrier around this apartment to keep the noise from reaching anyone outside. Listen to me for a moment. Look at me. No harm will come to you here…not from either of us. Do you understand me, love?"

Tears formed in her eyes as she stared at the silver-haired man. He wasn't old at all, but the scar across his face was frightening non-the-less. She wondered who he was and why he was calling her love? If no harm was to befall her, then why was she bound? Why was she taken from her husband?

Choking on a sob, she asked, "W-who are you? Why…. why d-did you take me fr-from my husband? What do you… you want with me?"

He saw it then: the soul looking back at him from those eyes did not belong to his Grell. He could see her repulsion as her gaze swept over his scars—a thing which Grell had never expressed. Indeed, the crimson reaper had expressed only appreciation for the battle marks that striped his body. He swallowed hard. She wasn't to blame, whoever she was. He believed that Grell was still in there somewhere, because what sense was there in having his very essence obliterated? Wundt wanted him, and Khronos had to believe that Grell's soul was somewhere safe, even if it wasn't inside of the body that reaper had cast an illusion on.

"I want to try and find my lost lover, my dear," he murmured, keeping his voice gentle despite the pain twisting his heart. "I don't mean you any harm. Your restraints are only there because I had to get you away from that man you believe is your husband, and you wouldn't listen to either of us. Your name is Celeste? And you say your husband's name is Charles. What year is it, Celeste? Can you tell me that?"

"You lie." She snapped. "My husband is Charles Demetric Grimm. And you took me from him. How dare you treat me like this! Do you have any idea with whom you are speaking?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she glared at her captors. Her cheeks were a rosy hue and her temper was boiling just below the surface. In her mind, she was making a vow to see these two men hang for such transgressions. Accosting a lady of high society and such. How dare they.

Undertaker did his best to ignore her barbs. "Ronald, write that name down."

The blond looked faintly startled and miserable at the same time. "Why? It's just some bogus name that creep made up when he brainwashed Senpai."

"Maybe not." Khronos kept his gaze on the irate blond bound to the chair. "He could be real. The reaper that took Grell altered his own appearance too, so if this fellow is real, he could have made himself look like him."

Ronald sighed. "Okay, but I want to know what's going on and why you keep humoring this chick."

"I'm not humoring," explained the Undertaker, briefly shutting his eyes. "This isn't Grell sitting here, right now."

Ronald ogled him. "Hey, I know the guy did something to his body but it's still Grell! Look at his face! Listen to the voice! She…I mean he…whatever…even mouths off like Senpai!"

"That's because she's a lady," said the ancient, opening his eyes again to give their guest a pained smile. "Just like Grell. This isn't brainwashing as we'd thought, though. Your mentor could never change his physical gender. Someone else did this, and the soul I see looking back at me right now matches the looks that wanker slapped on Grell's body. I need you to write that name down, and then I need to contact an old friend for sanctuary and some assistance."

"Okay but…if that guy swapped souls, then were is Senpai's?"

Undertaker looked away, his eyes stinging. He'd thought nothing could ever hurt him as bad as the loss of his previous lover. He'd been wrong. "I'm not sure, boy. I'm not sure."

He took another deep, shaken breath. "Lady Grimm, tell me what year it is."

"Why do you want me to tell you the name of the year? Don't you know or are you that daft?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Eighteen and ninety-two. And just to answer any other questions you have. I am Lady Celeste Elizabeth Whitmore Grimm, daughter of the Duke of Cornwall. I was born on the twentieth of May, year eighteen and seventy. Does that satisfy your curiosity or is there more?"

If she could have, she would have crossed her arms over her chest in exasperation.

"May I trouble you for a glass of water? I am rather parched, thanks to you two bounders. Charles must be mad with worry."

"Well, she's got that right," observed Ronald as he wrote down the lady's information on a pad of paper. "What does that mean? She'd have to have been killed pretty recently to know that, if that jerk got her records and put them into Senpai."

Undertaker didn't answer, because he could see the panic flash in her eyes when Ronald suggested she was killed. "Let's see about fetching that water you requested, milady. Ronald, loosen her bonds a bit—just enough to put some padding in them and make them more comfortable."

The boy put away his notepad and approached the woman warily. "Are ya sure Senpai isn't in here, 'Taker? I mean, I know it's a girl I'm seeing and all, but she sure looks like Grell in the face."

"Distant relation, perhaps," mused the ancient, still staring at her. "Could be your mentor took on his previous mortal visage when he arose as a Shinigami—if not his mortal coloring. Some reapers do that. It could just be a funny coincidence, too. Mayhap we'll find out later."

"What in Hell are you two talking about? I am not dead… nor is my husband." She asked, confused as she glanced between the two men.

Her attention switched to Ronald as the blond began to fumble with her binds. She watched how he carefully adjusted the grip they had on her wrists and was tremendously grateful for the padding he added. She had light, delicate skin. Where the clamps had been placed around her wrists, had already began to chafe and redden.

The silver-haired man had said he would get her water, but instead he continued to squat before her, staring. She could feel his gaze boring into her and turned to glance at him.

"Pardon me Sir, but it is rude to stare," she chided. "Is there something else you need know or are you trying to catch flies with your mouth?"

She looked back at the blond. "You two are the strangest people I have ever come across. I haven't the slightest clue as to what you two are talking about. If I were dead… how could I be sitting her talking with you? I insist you return me to my husband at once. And if you are afraid of what he might do to you, you may return me to my Father's estate."

Disturbed by the thoughts forming in his head, the mortician forced a smile and stood up. "I promised you water, didn't I? I'll just go and get that now. Ronald, I'd like to use your cell, if I can."

"Sure, but you know they might be able to track us that way, right?"

"They won't be able to track the number I'll be calling or monitor the conversation. By the time they realize where we are, I'll be off the phone and we'll be on our way."

He could have used the trick from earlier and used a raven, but he didn't want to get predictable.

"Okay old man," sighed Ronald, "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"Trust me. Just get the lady a glass of water while I make that call."

A moment later the blond returned with a glass of water. Celeste marveled at it.

"What sort of a glass is this?" She asked Ronald as her eyes roamed over the shiny, bright, yellow surface of the tumbler in his hands. "I have never seen a glass like it before."

"It's aluminum," he answered unhappily, holding it out for her to have a drink. "Man, I guess you really have taken over my senpai. He's drank from these glasses about a hundred times."

Celeste sipped the cool water as the blond tipped the glass for her. The water was fresh and it tasted delicious, unlike any she had ever tasted before. Her scratchy throat was soothed by the liquid as it trickled down her throat. Her dry mouth now moist. She licked her lips as he pulled the cup from her lips.

A tiny blush dusted her cheeks as she bashfully thanked him. "Thank you. I feel much better now."

Her eyes wandered to the older man in the kitchen. He was talking on something that slightly resembled a telephone. Her parents had one in their home. A new device that many had not yet encountered. But this one was shaped more rectangular and there was no cord. But a strange wand like thing stuck up from the top part, near the ear.

"May I ask what is a sen…pai?" She asked unsure if she was pronouncing the title correctly as she turned her face back to the blond. "I cannot say I have ever heard that word either. And… please? Let me go. I want to go home. I want to be with my husband. I do not know who you are searching for, but I can assure you… I am not them."

"It's a Japanese word," answered Ronald. He waited for her to swallow before offering another sip of water. "It means he's my elder…my teacher. Look, we can't let ya go. That guy that was on the ship with you isn't your husband. I don't know where he is, but that guy wasn't him. He's the guy that kidnapped my senpai, and that guy over there—"

He pointed at the Undertaker, still talking on the phone.

"—He's Senpai's lover. He's trying to help me get him back. The guy you were with on the ship did something to disguise himself…and I'm not sure, but I think he somehow switched you and my senpai. It's confusing…but I think the old man over there might have a lead. It's not your fault, so we aren't going to hurt ya. But if you want to get back to wherever it is you're supposed to be, you've gotta start listening to us. Undertaker over there wouldn't hurt you for the world, 'cause you're stuck in my senpai's body and I'm pretty sure he's head-over-heels for him…and I guess I've already told ya how I feel about it all. We just…want him back."

Nearly choking on another sip of water, Celeste burst out laughing. "You must be joking. There is no one inside my body but myself. What a preposterous thing to say… silly boy. And as for him-"

Celeste nodded the at the Undertaker, before returning a wary glance at Ronald.

"That old coot? His lover is another man? A man you believe inhabits my body?" She asked, nervously.

_~What an odd bunch of people. I really need to get out of here. I do not know what they propose to do with me, but I don't want to stay here and find out. I have to find a way out of here.~_

Celeste smiled as best she could as she spoke once more. "Sir? I need to use the privy."

"Uh…" Ronald scratched his head uncomfortably. She'd need her hands free for that, and if her female body was just an illusion as the Undertaker suggested, she was bound to have a surprise in store when she went to pee. Even if everything downstairs looked female, it should still work like guy bits and that meant aiming. It was probably going to spray everywhere if she just sat down and went like a girl.

He glanced at her cleavage as discreetly as possible, half tempted to find some excuse to accidentally bump against it just to see if it felt as real as it looked. How good could an illusion be? Could it actually mimic the physical flesh? Undertaker was the one that had wrestled with her, so Ronald couldn't be sure.

"Let me get back to you on that," he said. "Oh and by the way; where we come from, there aren't any hangups about two people of the same sex hooking up. You humans have a long way to go before you're enlightened…as Spears-senpai would say. And yeah, you've got a man's soul inside you and whether you believe it or not, you've stolen his body. You're a thief, even if that's not your fault."

He was getting angry again, but he couldn't help it. It was creepy how much she sounded like Grell. She even talked like him and he was starting to think his senpai might have had a twin sister when he was mortal. That shouldn't be possible, though. He wasn't sure how old his mentor was, but he knew that he and William had trained together some fifty years ago. The lady inhabiting his body would be an old bat by now if she had managed to live to the current year.

Shaking his head in confusion, he put the glass aside and got up to speak with the Undertaker about his dilemma.

~xox~

"Thank you, old friend. We could use any help we can get right now, and maybe together you and I can suss out what's going on and find some way to fix it. We'll be there shortly."

Undertaker hung up the phone and he looked at Ronald as the boy approached. "What's got you blushing, lad?"

Ronald spoke in a low whisper. "She's gotta go to the bathroom."

Khronos winced. "Oh."

"What should we do? I mean, she'll need to use her hands, right? And what about her…stuff? When you were grappling with her, did she feel…well…curvy?"

The ancient frowned in thought. "Not that I noticed, but then Grell has some rather feminine attributes already, minus the breasts. The illusion shouldn't be able to create flesh out of nothing or remove flesh that was already there before."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So what happens when she tries to pee like a girl and ends up doing it like a loose hose, instead?"

Undertaker snickered impulsively; the first laugh he'd been able to muster since this all happened. "Oh my…that might actually give her cause to consider that we aren't just making up a wild tale."

He sobered again and he looked into the living room at her. "So much like Grell, though."

"I know, right?" Ronald's brow furrowed. "You said it's not him, but she's got about the same temperament, same face structure—"

"Same lips, same arse, same hips," murmured the ancient longingly. He smiled wistfully. "She even hurls the same insults at me."

"Uh, sure." Ronald flushed again. "What I want to know is how this 'lady' can be so much like Senpai, if she's really the ghost of someone else put into him?"

Beneath his hanging bangs, Undertaker's eyes narrowed. "Wundt is obsessed with Grell. I wonder…is it because of Grell himself, or is it because he reminds him of someone else he wanted? I couldn't fathom why he would approve of that reaper aboard the ship boxing up Grell's soul to replace it with another, but maybe it wasn't really Grell he was after, to begin with? We need to find out if this woman's husband is still alive; if he even exists at all."

Ronald felt chilled. "Oh man, what if he's trying to swap him out permanently?"

Khronos lowered his head. "The thought just recently occurred to me too, chap. We can't know for sure until we've had the chance to look into it more."

Ronald's work phone began to beep, and he fished it out with a frown. "Shit…I've got to be in the office in an hour. If I don't show or call in sick, it might cause problems."

Undertaker nodded. "Business as usual; that's the best thing you can do for now, Mustard Seed. Help me keep an eye on our little body thief while I see her to the loo. Are there any windows in there she might try to jump out of?"

"Well, yeah…a little one. It's just over the shower, but it's a big drop to the ground from this floor and as far as she knows, she's just human."

"I think in her current frame of mind, she'd probably risk going splat over staying in our custody. I suppose you can guard the door and I'll guard the window, while she does her business."

"I wouldn't turn my back on her if I were you," suggested Ronald with a peek around the taller reaper's body at their prisoner.

"Wasn't planning on it."

Ronald's brows shot up. "So what…you're gonna watch her pee? Good luck with that."

"I'll happily blindfold myself and stand in the shower," answered Khronos. "I'm used to relying on my other senses, if you recall. I'll sense her if she tries to come near the shower. Just go in there and make sure you get all the stabby things out before we let the lady do her business."

The blond grimaced. "Man, this is going to be awkward."

Undertaker patted him on the arm and smiled. "Chin up, love. We'll get your senpai back, one way or another. And once we do, I'll be sure to let him chew Whundt's cock off himself. I'll just go talk to the lady while you childproof the loo. Once that's done, we'll move her to a safer location and you can go on to work."

With that said, the mortician approached their guest and gave a little bow to her. "You'll have to pardon us, my dear, but in order to accommodate your needs I'm going to have to chaperone you."

~xox~

Celeste sat and watched as the young man went to speak with the older man. She watched their body language the way they talked to each other. They weren't going to let her go alone to the privy. She just knew they were trying to discuss how they would allow such a privilege.

While they were busy she began to look around the room. The drapes were drawn so she couldn't tell what lay beyond. When they arrived she hadn't seen much of the outside. Her memory was of them appearing just outside a door and then being dragged inside. Then the world went black. She could tell it was still nightfall outside, but the hour was unknown. She had no clue to their whereabouts and if anyone would be willing to help her. She felt disgusting and most likely looked like a bloody street walker.

_~There has to be someway to get out of here.~_

A strange beeping noise came from the blond man's pocket and then he cussed.

_~How vile. ~_

Then the older man turned and glanced at her and she blushed. It was the way he looked at her in that brief moment. Soft eyes.

_~Why are you blushing you twit? He wants you for some reason and now you are blushing. He most likely means you harm. Pull it together girl. You have to concentrate. Charles, you need to get back to Charles. He could be hurt or worse.~_

She spotted the front door just as the two men emerged from the kitchen. Perhaps she could make a run for it when they released her. For sure they would let her free to use the water closet.

~xox~

She looked up at the tall, silver-haired man as he bowed over her. Her eyes enlarged as he stated the obvious. She, however, played the innocent.

"Pardon me? You wish to do what? No. I won't allow it. I am a lady in London society. You are an old codger and a creep. And he is no better, just younger." She stated, huffing while nodding in the young man's direction. "I will not be watched as I try and relieve myself. It is improper for anyone to accompany a lady in the privy. How vulgar of you."

Were he not so familiar with Grell's antics by now, Undertaker might have missed her subtle looks about. By all rights, in his worried and distracted frame of mind he probably should have; but if anything the situation he was in made him even more observant and unusually cautious. The lady inhabiting Grell's body shared a lot of the crimson reaper's personality traits, as well as looks. By that reasoning, he expected her to share his cunning, as well. He smirked at her and knelt before her, combing his bangs back again so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Think ol' Khronos wouldn't notice your sly looks, milady? Sorry to disappoint you, but I have…and I know an actress when I see one. Let me make something perfectly clear to you: I am nobody's fool. I know I look funny to you and I act like a mad old codger, but that's just the surface—and it's just as much an illusion as the breasts so delightfully straining at your cleavage. Tut, tut—"

He interrupted her as she started to blurt an indignant response, pressing one long-nailed finger against her parted lips. "Shh, I'm not done yet. Ronnie and I have been generous with you, because you're just as displaced as our Grell and anything we do to you, we'd also be doing to him. I'll warn you now, though…I have limits. What your 'Charles' means to you, Grell also means to me. If you're incapable of believing anything else I tell you, at least believe that. Our situations aren't so very different, my dear. Your husband has been stolen from you, just as my lover has been stolen from me. You want to be with Charles again, and I want to be with Grell again. I can make that happen for both of us, given half the chance."

He lowered his gaze thoughtfully, his long, pale lashes sweeping down to mask his eyes. "Your real husband was not the man on that ship. He was the one responsible for abducting Grell and displacing you to hide him from us. It was an act to keep you docile and cooperative, and if you're interested to know, my friend and I are going to try to find the real Charles Grimm and do our best to reunite you with him. If you really want to see him again, you'll cooperate and tell us any information you can about him, to facilitate that."

He looked at her again, his eyes softening once more as he briefly caressed her soft cheek with the backs of his knuckles. "You're so very much like him. I can see why they chose you to switch with him."

He took his hand away and curled it into a fist, his emotions rising to the surface at an alarming rate. "I've lost one lady love already. I won't lose this one too…not if I can help it. The people that did this to both of us will pay dearly, milady. That's my sincere promise to you and to Grell."

His vision swam and he blinked, wiping his eyes hastily and looking away with faint embarrassment. "Ah, pardon me, love. Seems I can be a bit of a softie when I'm deprived of what I really need."

Ronald came out of the bathroom with an armload of various toiletries that he'd put into a basket, then. He saw the morose look on the Undertaker's face and he paused uncomfortably. "So, the bathroom's cleared out. Unless she plans on washing your mouth out with soap, you should be all good. You okay, Undy?"

"Fine," answered the mortician shortly. He composed himself and looked at Celeste again, managing a sparkling grin. "Right, then. Your powder room awaits, milady. I'll have Ronald blindfold me for the sake of your modesty, and he'll wait outside while I escort you in to the potty. Please keep it in mind that while I'm not daft, I really am prone to madness at times—particularly now, when my lover is in danger of losing more than his life. I could do so much worse than embarrass you if you don't cooperate, and I don't have to do physical harm to either you or Grell to do it. Please do us both a favor and don't test me, my dear. If you'll be nice to me, I'll be nice to you. Fair?"

He freed her from her restraints, straightened up and offered a pale hand to her.

Celeste made one more glance to the door and then he touched her cheek. He was sincere in his words. Whomever he was missing, Grell he had said, he genuinely missed them. She swallowed hard and blushed once again and then his hand was gone and the blond reemerged from the privy. His arms loaded with all kinds of bizarre items.

There were tears in his eyes. He tried to hide them, the silver-haired man. But she had noticed and her heart melted, his words sinking in to her very core. He offered her his hand as he undid the chains. A bit frightened and reserved, she accepted it and allowed him to help her to her feet.

She wobbled. Her legs were asleep from sitting for so long. Before she could stop herself, she fell against his hard chest.

"Oh!" She yelped and shyly looked up. "I'm terribly sorry. My legs… I think they are a..slee…"

~His eyes. They are too enchanting. So strange. But see how he looks down at you. Like Charles and how he holds you.~

The feel of his arms around her waist…it was different from before. Not rough, but gentle. Her breasts pressed up against him and her corset became rather tight. Her mouth ran dry and she had the strangest urge to kiss him.

Khronos suffered a similar affliction to his senses, because for one brief moment as she looked up at him with wide eyes, her pale golden brows furrowed in a way that reminded him so much of Grell, he thought he saw his lover's soul looking back at him again. He supported Celeste's body against his, and he eased one arm from around her waist to trace her features with his fingertips.

"I've got you, my dear," he whispered, and the promise was meant as much for Grell as it was for her. Styx, how he missed that volatile, flamboyant reaper. He stared at the parted lips, the inviting, confused look in the eyes staring back at him, and he wasn't even aware that the distance between their faces was closing.

"Heavens, I love you," he heard himself say, his lips barely an inch from hers.

The sound of Ronald Knox's basket of toiletries crashing to the floor rudely broke the spell. "Hey, what are you two doing? Cripes, Undy…you're supposed to be guarding her, not making out with her!"

So embarrassed he wished he had a coffin to shut himself up in, the mortician lifted his head and retreated a step, still supporting her by the shoulders in a less intimate—but still cordial—manner. "Ah, begging your pardon, Lady Grimm. Moment of weakness…shouldn't have done that."

Celeste jumped and turned her head to the blond, watching the load of items tumble from his hands. Then the absence of warmth and she looked back to the man before her. Had they just nearly kissed? Her cheeks warmed at the thought and she nodded in response to the older man's apology.

"Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me. I don't particularly behave in such a manner. Your words, they just sounded so haunted to me."

Undertaker's expression matched her description of the tone of his words. "That's because they are, my dear. Not many people would love an old spook like me…at least, not any more. I had my share of admirers back in my youth, but now…"

He chuckled and smirked ruefully. "Now they all look at me as the twisted old creep…except for him. He saw me that way himself once, but then he saw beneath all that and…I haven't felt loved like that in so long. I miss him."

Ronald looked away and rubbed his eye. "Speck of dust or something," he muttered in excuse, turning his back on them.

The mortician sighed, feeling utterly his age for the first time since…well, since forever. "I'm not trying to gain your pity, my dear. All I want is your cooperation. You're being kept from your love, and I'm being kept from mine. I think if we work together, we can rectify that. I can't promise to trust you and I wouldn't expect you to do the same for me, but I can promise I'll do my best to see we both get what we want. You'll simply have to put up with my friend and I for a while longer, while we work this out and figure out how we're going to get you home and get Grell back to us."

Celeste looked deeply into his eyes. He was right she did not trust him. How was she to? Everything had been crazy ever since the blond attacked her husband. And no she didn't believe the man on the ship was an imposter. But what was else could she do? She fortified her mind, willing herself to be strong. In that moment she decided to be brave for Charles. She would go with these two for a time, see where they would lead.

With her mind made up she met the silver-haired man's gaze. Nodding she agreed, "I can accept that. We have no reason to trust each other, but as you say I have what you want and you have want I want."

"However I do in fact have to use the privy. It may have been an excuse before… now, I indeed need to relieve myself. Please do not accompany me. Give me the benefit of the doubt. How humiliating if you come in there. Improper. I don't think I could if you were there, listening."

Her plea was sincere. Fear of humiliation resided in her eyes as she begged for privacy. Her hand tightened on the man's wrist. "Please?"

"Don't do it, Undertaker-senpai," warned Ronald when he saw the ancient wavering. "You said you know acting when you see it and—"

"I do, and she's not," interrupted Khronos, staring deeply into her eyes. There was something there…a spark, perhaps. Something of Grell was awake enough in there…her reactions to him moments ago were proof of that. Whatever she considered her "better judgment" right now, her instinctive need to be close to him was winning out over her wariness.

Of course, it probably helped that she was in a strange place with no idea of where to go and what amounted to a killing drop for a mortal, if she tried to squirm out through the window. He wanted to trust her…but as he'd told her before, there was too much at stake and he was no fool. That didn't mean he couldn't compromise.

"I'll see you to the loo, Miss," he offered, "and Ronald here will be right outside the door. Call out to him when you've finished, and he'll make you comfortable for transport. Will that be all right by you?"

"You mean you will let me have a moment to myself?" She blinked a few times trying to absorb what he said. "Yes… yes. Thank you."

Without further thinking she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Her heart gave a faint flutter and she stepped back. She touched her lips with her finger tips. Then slowly, her gaze rose to meet the man's eyes.

"I… I should…"

She spun away and stumbled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Dropping to her knees she covered her face and wept.

~xox~

Ronald rounded on the Undertaker as soon as the woman closed the door behind her. "Are you nuts?" he hissed. He pointed at the door. "That dirtbag on the ship had her totally convinced he was her husband! You're just going to let her go in there all alone?"

"I never said that," whispered the ancient. "Keep your knickers on. I'm going out the living room window over there and I'll scale the wall and be right outside the bathroom. If she tries to climb out, she'll land directly into my arms."

Ronald calmed down. "Oh. Well, you'd better get going…"

He trailed off at the sounds of quiet weeping that came through from the other side of the bathroom door. His brows knit and he looked that way with concern he couldn't quite help. "Sounds like she's crying. Or is that Senpai? Should we…check on them?" Poor Ronald was still so confused about the whole situation.

"No." Undertaker shook his head. "I told her I'd give her a moment alone, and that's what she'll get. Ask your mentor sometime if I ever fail to fulfill my word to a lady."

Ronald scratched his head and looked toward the living room window in question. "Well, you'd better get out there quick, then. I hope you're right and this isn't all some trick."

~xox~

After a few minutes and a few hiccups, Celeste pulled herself up from the floor. She stood before the mirror above the sink and studied her reflection. Wiping away her tears, she tried to imagine herself as a man. But all she saw staring back was herself.

"Madness. This is all madness. I am me. My hair. My eyes. My breasts." She whispered as she touched each body part. "There is nothing wrong with my body. It's real. Its not an illusion. So why did they kidnap me? They say I am a thief. How can I be a thief? I stole nothing."

"Charles? Where are you, my husband? Please find me. I'm frightened." She started to cry once more as she hung her head.

A wave of nausea assaulted her and she was forced back to her knees as she lost the contents of her stomach into the commode.

~xox~

Outside the window, clinging to the wall like a spider, the Undertaker listened to the sounds of distress inside with a frown. As much anger as he had for Wundt and his cohorts, he couldn't muster anything but sympathy for the poor, displaced ghost inhabiting Grell's body. She clearly believed she was still alive…believed that the body she was in was her own. He couldn't blame her for doubting them. That reaper they had faced down on the ship did a very thorough job with the transference. Perhaps he even had the lady's body preserved somewhere, to have her records transferred back into it at a later date. Maybe Grell was just meant to be the carrier until they reached their destination. What if he'd made a deal with Wundt, offering Grell in exchange for having a human woman he'd obsessed over restored for his own personal pleasures?

What if…what if. There were too many "what if's" and not enough answers. All he knew for certain was that the ghost of a woman with an uncanny resemblance in both features and personality to his Grell was now inhabiting his body, and she was there because of some master plan he had yet to uncover.

He sighed and he waited, trying to harden his heart against the sounds of grief. It was difficult, because she even wept like dear Grell. Undertaker could honestly say he hadn't frowned so much in a century.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, both to his lover and to the woman occupying his body. "I couldn't stop this from happening, but I'll fix it somehow."

~xox~

-To be continued


End file.
